


waiting down at the station

by ivy_seas



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: (because of fear of rejection), Angst, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fall/Winter, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Lovers, it takes time for robbe to realize things, slow build but not really, they're so cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 43,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28995576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivy_seas/pseuds/ivy_seas
Summary: The world is winter, it’s the inconvenient snowfall on the walk to the six-thirty train, it’s falling for the stranger who happens to take the same train. When to take a risk becomes the same question of when to let go of something you’re not really sure you had in the first place. But maybe the world isn’t so cruel.—strangers to lovers au
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 72
Kudos: 122





	1. gray november

**Author's Note:**

> hi i want to say THANK YOU for the comments and kudos on my last fic they pushed me to not keep this in my drafts forever hahhaha <3 i hope you like it  
> —title is from “On the Train Ride Home” by The Paper Kites

"Where's Robbe?" Sander pondered aloud. He padded across the wood floors of his bedroom barefoot, dressed only in his sweatpants. Lines of sunlight laid over the floorboards, the reflection off the snow outside almost blindingly bright. His hair was still damp from having showered minutes before, and the room smelled heavily of laundry detergent as the scent traveled from the hall.

A muffled giggle sounded in response, the duvet shuffling with small movement. He could make out the shape of Robbe's body curled underneath, obviously failing at this hiding game.

"Hmm… Is he in here?" Sander pulled open a drawer of his dresser, purposely doing so loudly. Another laugh emitted from under the covers. "Or… Here?" He walked over to his closet and began sliding the clothes out of the way, the hangers rattling against each other.

"Or…" He knelt down on the bed, crawling toward the center and not being able to conceal the smile that pulled on his lips. He drew down the duvet and grinned, meeting the exact pair of brown eyes that never seemed to leave his mind lately. "Here?"

Robbe laughed loudly, Sander joining him and surging forward to wrestle him into the mattress. Robbe fought back, twisting the sheets and letting his wet hair flop over his eyes. Sander paused their antics to push aside the strands, dipping his head down to place a kiss there on Robbe's forehead.

"When do you have to leave?" Sander asked, rolling onto his side and turning to face him.

"Ten minutes," he replied. Sander frowned, disappointment clear on his face. Robbe sent an apologetic smile. "Or fifteen."

"Still not enough. But I'll take the extra five minutes." He leaned in and kissed him softly, eyes fluttering closed in content. Robbe kissed him back, but not long before pulling away and lifting the covers so he could get out of bed.

Sander held out his hands confusedly, following Robbe with his eyes as he still laid there unmoving.

"Sorry," Robbe said with a hint of mischief in his voice, picking up his phone from the bedside table and looking at the time. He was dressed only in sweats just the same as Sander, the shirt he arrived in having long been tossed at the end of the bed. "But you promised me coffee and breakfast."

He pocketed his phone and headed toward the door, Sander throwing a pillow at him and making him laugh just as he entered the hallway.

"Take whatever you want from the cabinet! The oatmeal is probably stale!" Sander called out from where he was laying down. He flopped onto his back and sighed happily. His eyes roamed to the window to his left, where the morning sun greeted the room with warmth and glistened off the snow that piled on the gridded mullions.

It wasn't two minutes before he heard the toaster go off in the kitchen. He rolled onto his other side, facing the door again as footsteps began to approach.

And once again appeared Robbe, this time with a piece of toast in one hand and Sander's gray, desperately-in-need-of-a-haircut pet cat in the other. He walked through the doorway, chewing tiredly and holding the creature to his chest, its long tail brushing against his bare stomach.

"Dusty likes toast too," Sander informed him, tilting his head fondly at the sight before him.

"Yeah?"

He nodded.

Robbe then brought the slice toward the cat's nose, slowly and with a smile growing on his face. They both watched as she tilted her head forward and began to lick at the toast, exposing her sharp teeth and pawing at Robbe's hand for him to lower the piece even more.

They laughed in unison, Robbe pulling it away and back up to his mouth to take another bite. Sander eyed him in shock, stating as if it were a question, "Ew?"

"What?" Robbe lowered his arm to let Dusty drop from his embrace and roam about the room.

"Probably tastes like tuna and dust now." He teased, squirming away when Robbe reached out and tried to bring the remaining piece to Sander's mouth.

"Tastes like bread and butter," Robbe retaliated, finishing the rest and jumping back into bed.

"Let me see." Sander brought his lips to Robbe's again, pulling back and pretending to contemplate the results. "Yeah, bread and butter. You're right." He smiled and leaned back in for more, relaxing completely when he felt Robbe meet him halfway, hand roaming up to Sander's neck.

The soft sounds of lazy morning kisses occupied the sunlit room, inquiring fingertips caressing bare skin. Wind occasionally whistled from outside the window, the relentless chill of winter contrasting with the warmth between sheets.

**_—six weeks earlier—_ **

**_\- sander -_ **

**thursday, 06:18**

The late autumn wind swirled, lifting the fallen leaves from the ground as Sander trudged his way to Antwerp Central Station. It was a typical Thursday morning: take the train from Antwerp to Ghent, nearly an hour and a half ride as his route stopped in Brussels first. Waking up a quarter to six in the morning every day to catch the six-thirty train, especially as the days grew colder (and the art assignments grew heavier—both physically and qualitatively), was not an entirely enjoyable experience, no.

Although, there was one silver lining to the routine. A lanky, doe-eyed, radiant, silver lining who happened to take the same route as him every day. Sander quickly learned the stranger got off in Brussels, where he likely went to university. And he carried a camera in addition to his backpack, which he _likely_ used for photography, which he was _likely_ studying at said university.

The truth was, Sander didn't know any of this for a fact because he had never actually spoken to the boy. Only sent curious glances, sometimes longing glances if the day was just going like that, and occasionally nervous glances when the train car was full and the boy happened to sit next to him for the rest of the ride. No words exchanged, no interaction besides maybe a small smile as to ask _can I sit here?_ followed by a nod, and another smile of thanks.

But that was all. And Sander didn't really mind it, as the stranger's company soon became enough to improve his day all by itself. He would wait, like he was now, on the platform and prepare for the boy's typical arrival at six twenty-five, just five minutes after Sander usually arrived.

He finally reached the tall building, picturesque with its art nouveau stone architecture and vast glass dome ceiling. Hundreds of businesspeople and students alike rushed past him, printing tickets and catching last-minute rides to their destinations.

And Sander waited, as he always did. He carried his portfolio under one arm, his other shoulder bearing his duffel bag and a paper coffee cup in his hand. His legs were already tired from the walk from his flat, and all he wanted to do was sit in the back of the train car as usual and listen to his music until his arrival.

Right on time (Sander watched the huge digital clocks in the station turn to six twenty-five), there he was. Nearly stumbling into the station from the strong gusts of wind outside, the boy carried a coffee like Sander, his backpack, and camera bag. He would frequently pull out the device while on the train, sorting through files and sometimes so much as take out his laptop and cord to download them and work on a project. Sander was never close enough to actually see what the boy was working on, and he never happened to use his camera on the days when sitting next to Sander, which more than mildly disappointed him. He didn't want to seem obsessive, especially since scaring the stranger away was the last thing he'd ever wish for, but there was an unwavering sense of _I want to know more about you_ that lit up in Sander's mind every morning.

It was the boy's deep brown eyes that glinted in the sunlight through the ceiling of the station; it was his charming politeness when selflessly switching his seat on the train so that some greedy passenger could get the window; it was his way of making whatever he was working on on his laptop or camera look easy; it was the days where he wore a beanie and would sometimes take it off to shake out his hair, looking like a figment of Sander's imagination. The boy looked like fireplaces and soft hands, like watching the sun rise at dawn and drowning in mountains of blankets and sheets.

And Sander didn't know anything about him beyond that.

When the departure time neared closer, he headed down the steps to the platform and felt the strong breeze from passing trains cascade through his bleached hair, waking him up even more. He pulled out his phone and typed a message to his roommate.

**_Sander:_ ** _mystery guy looks better than ever today, help_

He bit his lip as he glanced sideways to peek at the boy. He was also on his phone, typing away and letting out a small laugh to himself, which was inaudible to Sander as the trains continued to rush past and swallow the voices of those waiting. Sander received a reply.

**_Senne:_ ** _why text me about it when we both know you won't actually say hello_

**_Senne:_ ** _lmk when the story starts moving_

Sander rolled his eyes at the messages, knowing Senne had been pushing him to act on it for weeks. He typed back a short response, looking up when the train finally halted to a stop and people began crowding the doors to get on. He managed to slip through, heading to the back of the car and snagging his usual seat by the window.

He got himself situated, headphones in, portfolio and bag slipped under his seat, warm coffee in his hands.

The typical six-thirty crowd chose their seats as well and the volume in the car gradually lulled to a low rumbling of conversation, many taking the opportunity to catch up on lost hours of sleep from the night before.

Sander scrolled through his recently streamed playlists— _Bowie, Bowie2, Mornings, Essential 70's_ , among others. He decided to go for _Mornings_ , the list of songs carrying a significance to him lately. Truthfully, he had selected the tracks over a week ago with a certain person in mind.

Now, he wasn't particularly proud of having generated enough of an imagined understanding of Brown Eyes to build a playlist of songs that he believed suited him, but he _was_ proud of how amazing (as he reckoned) the playlist itself was. It was the perfect arrangement to either carry him to sleep or fuel his daydreams at six in the morning on a weekday.

And there his muse was a few rows in front of him, earbuds in, elbow on the armrest and face resting on his hand as he looked out the window. He was stunning. How could someone, Sander thought, look so angelic and captivating this early in the morning, when everyone else on the train was donning sleepy expressions and dark circles.

At one point Sander had to put his head down and fiddle with his phone, starting to become hyperaware of how long he had been gazing at the boy. The train thrummed as it passed through the outskirts of Antwerp, Sander watching the almost unnoticeable beginnings of snowfall through the glass.

Once a specific row of office buildings passed outside the window, he slightly frowned to himself, knowing the Brussels stop was coming soon. He craned his neck once more through the aisle to see the boy close his laptop and slip it into his backpack, sitting on the edge of the seat with his feet planted on an angle so as not to fall when the vehicle came to a stop.

Sander watched as he stood up, along with a handful of other zombielike passengers, and then his heart nearly stopped.

The boy must have caught his staring and met his eyes, offering a small smile as he made his way toward where Sander was sitting so he could exit the car. In an exchange of less than two seconds, Sander returned his smile, pretending as though he wasn't looking at him for most of the ride and literally listening to a _playlist inspired by him_ as the boy shuffled past and then was gone. The doors closed. Sander cringed to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face in minor embarrassment.

Soon enough, the train began moving again, and he leaned his head back, breathing in deep. His exhale was steady, almost like the boy himself got his heart racing simply by being on the train with him. Now that he left, Sander's mind started to become less of a jumbled collage of train stranger daydreams. But it was barely letting up, still.

He allowed the familiar rumble of the train on the tracks to calm him and closed his eyes with a penitent sigh.

**friday, 06:29**

Sander stepped toward the train doors, immediately swarmed by others trying to squeeze past and grab a seat before they were all filled.

Luckily, he had enough practice taking advantage of their tiredness at this hour and easily maneuvered his way through the crowd, heading toward the back as per usual. He sat down, moving his things under his seat as he expected someone would occupy the one next to him on this unusually busy morning.

He glanced up almost reluctantly, not wanting to spend the rest of his ride next to one of the women who talked loudly on the phone the entire time, or the chronically unhappy businessmen whose desolate energy was honestly draining to witness.

What he didn't expect to see, in a quick flurry of movement, was a familiar black corduroy jacket and head of feathery brown hair swiftly sit down next to him. The boy let out an exasperated breath, having had to fight through the many others before he ended up here, inches away from Sander, shrugging off his backpack to put on the ground and pull out his phone and earbuds.

He seemed to become aware of having joined Sander so abruptly without any other acknowledgement, looking up to find his eyes already following his own and giving an apologetic smile.

"Sorry."

There it was. Sander let the sound course through him, traveling from his ears immediately through his veins to his heart, where he planned to store it for the rest of his life. _Sorry._

The boy's voice was kind, and youthful, and warm. Sander realized he was staring again. Silence. The boy turned back to face forward then, expression faltering as he never received a response.

Sander's self-awareness suddenly spiked, realizing he must seem like one of the typical, rude, never-in-the-mood-for-conversation commuters. He mentally kicked himself and debated whether or not to say anything. After going through his possible options— _all good; don't worry about it; you're literally the most beautiful person i have ever seen in my entire life_ —he feared his own words and instead looked out the window, elbow rested on the edge and headphones playing his usual morning repertoire.

About ten minutes passed before Sander's side tingled with the sudden warmth of something leaning on him, ever so slightly nudging him against the window.

He slowly turned his head, and just as he did, the weight was gone, and he saw the boy blink a few times and shake his head, laughing.

"Sorry. I got, like, no sleep last night," he said, voice slightly raspy as he excused himself for having almost fallen asleep against Sander, looking too tired to even be embarrassed.

Sander's heart swelled. Why was he apologizing? if anything, Sander should have been apologizing for the sensation just thinking about it sent through his spine. This time he spoke.

"That's okay," he shot him a smile with teeth, trying his best to convey a totally chill and not obsessive sentiment.

He received a mirroring smile in return, albeit lazy from sleep deprivation.

 _God, even his teeth are perfect,_ Sander hoped his thoughts couldn't be heard aloud.

And just like that, the two turned away from each other and resumed their silence, Sander still feeling warm all over from the minor interaction.

By the time it was the boy's stop, Sander already felt a growing emptiness inside him. _Don't leave_ , he pleaded to himself. _Stay._

But then the figure was gone, having been swept away by the shuffling crowd into Brussels Station. And Sander pulled out his phone.

**_Sander:_ ** _spoke to him._

**_Sander:_ ** _barely a sentence. his voice is heaven_

**_Senne:_ ** _so… baby steps?_

**_Sander:_ ** _he's the one_

**_Senne:_ ** _…_

**_Senne:_ ** _you're fucked_

**sunday, 20:30**

Rays from passing headlights shone through the slanted windows of Sander's studio, creating flecks of light upon his canvas and making the paint glimmer.

The studio was quiet; no noise from the hallway since most of the other students went home for the night. If he were being honest, Sander didn't want to be on campus this late on a Saturday, but the projects had been piling up lately and his space in the flat wasn't exactly ideal to spread out.

On the floor beneath him laid a tarp, scattered with spilled paint and stray brushes. On the easel stood a medium-size canvas, the painting nearly finished aside from minor details to add later. Blues, grays, black and white… It was a winter scene; downtown Antwerp during snowfall. His project was to be a landscape, so he attempted to recreate the image he had seen so many times from memory.

Despite it being undoubtedly beautiful, as his instructors often commended him as being one of the greatest talents in the department, it felt incomplete. There was something missing. Same thing with the rest of his recent creations—visually alluring, sure to receive an A and likely a feature in the term showcase, but to Sander they were all lacking.

He wasn't typically hard on himself with his work; he knew his ability and he knew it well. But lately it pained him to even seek inspiration for a project, to establish a vision in his mind. And it unquestionably had to do with the recent stagnancy in his life. Every weekday, he went to classes without barely holding a conversation with his classmates since they were all so preoccupied with whatever it was—relationships, family, other things Sander couldn't exactly relate to. In the evenings he arrived back to the flat and ate either with Senne or alone, his roommate often being MIA when visiting his girlfriend or parents. And he would wake up in the morning and repeat the same routine. Weekends weren't much different, unless he decided to do something with Senne or his friends from university. For Sander, it was a quiet winter oncoming. He stepped away from the canvas and planted himself in front of his desk, grabbing a pen and stray sheet of watercolor paper lying around.

What didn't help with the growing void was his unrequited pining for mystery train stranger, something that felt out of his hands. He couldn't help the pull he felt whenever he saw him; he just stood out so distinctly in the gray mornings, eyes alight with warmth and voice sweet like dew. Sander thought maybe, he would say something next week, make his attempt at flirting for the first time in almost six months. The truth was, Sander hated being single at this time of the year, constantly reminded of his roommate's enviable long-term relationship. He hadn't missed his ex-girlfriend, but he did wish he could still enjoy the company and affection of another person, and give them his own—but he had never experienced that in a way he felt was right. It always came across to him as some sort of disproportionate exchange of affection, where Sander was valued only to fulfill the title of 'boyfriend' and have an otherwise surface-level connection with the other person.

Senne noticed how he felt, watching him get lost in his projects as a means of escape from his nagging thoughts. He tried, several times throughout every week, to propose they do something together, sometimes with Zoë and sometimes just the two of them. It was a temporary resolution.

The boy from the train probably had someone, Sander assumed. Still, it didn't keep him from awaiting his presence on the platform every weekday. He thought maybe he just needed a hookup to stave off his loneliness for a bit. Just one night, not spent by himself, accompanied by another body…

His thoughts wandered to faintly tanned skin and deep brown eyes, golden when met with the light, feathery curls and a sweet smile.

He didn't realize how much he had sketched until an announcement aired through the speakers in the hallway, informing students the building would be closing in a few minutes.

He looked down at his work. It was quick, and done only in pen, but it had captured the image residing in Sander's mind for the past few weeks. Big eyes, messy hair, long neck that Sander spent way too much time fixating on at six-thirty in the morning. He filed the drawing in his sketchbook and began gathering his things to go home.

Yeah, he was going to need to say something.

**_\- robbe -_ **

**monday, 06:31**

Robbe looked around the train car, dodging the relentless pushes and glares sent his way as the typical crowd vied to grab their seats.

There weren't many left open, save for one next to the grumbling businessman who constantly complained on the phone about some corporate merger which everyone on this train basically knew all about at this point.

He looked elsewhere. There was a spot beside a girl with her laptop out, until he noticed piles of manuscripts on the seat next to her.

He walked toward the back of the car, hoping for _something_ before he would have to opt for his first option—or worse, he would have to stand next to the door and not be able to edit his footage like he was planning to.

 _Thank god,_ he breathed out a sigh of relief, locating a free seat in the back row, where he had sat last week as well.

And, oh. It was the same guy he had sat next to on Friday. Bleached hair, leather jacket, kind voice. A bit of dried paint on his hands, Robbe noticed from their brief interaction after nearly falling asleep against the stranger last time. He cringed to himself at the memory. He decided last week that he would try to find a new coffee place so he wouldn't have to spend five dollars every morning from the shop beneath his flat. What resulted was his unavoidable tiredness on the train, only getting his caffeine fix when he got to campus. No coffee plus a maximum of five hours of sleep per night leads to falling asleep against strangers on the morning train, he concluded.

He blinked a few times, trying to keep himself awake, and walked the rest of the way to the last row.

The boy looked up. Green eyes met his brown. And Robbe hadn't noticed just how green and nearly _iridescent_ they were, bright and welcoming as he looked into Robbe's. He was without question attractive, Robbe actually getting a better look at him today. He remembered having sat next to him a few times in the past, but he couldn't say he recalled them well, having likely been too tired and busy to consider every aspect of his surroundings.

They exchanged polite smiles, enough to signal that Robbe was welcome to join him, and so he sat down and almost immediately pulled his laptop out from his bag to hopefully get something done in the next forty-five minutes.

He ignored the many unread text messages that flooded the side of his screen, decidedly putting his computer on Do Not Disturb for the rest of the ride. He knew people were waiting for him to send them video samples, show them how to do certain commands for their own projects, and whatever else during this hectic time in the term. He made a mental note to check them once he got to the library before his morning class.

His finger dragged along the touchpad, opening the video editing software and project he was currently itching to finish. It was a special effects-focused assignment, requiring Robbe to teach himself new techniques in addition to the ones he gathered from class, and all he wanted to do was hit submit already.

He pressed play, watched for nearly five seconds, before already pausing to refine a certain visual. It went on like this for a few minutes. Playing, pausing, trimming, dragging, adjusting. He was too immersed in the process to notice there were eyes on him. Or rather, on his screen. And him.

He needed to look away from the computer for a second, his eyes already feeling like they were burning from the mix of fatigue and strain from the screen. Then he felt the gaze of the boy next to him. He turned to look at him but the stranger was just watching the video play on his computer.

A moment passed before he realized he was caught staring, and his eyes met Robbe's once again.

"Looks really cool," he said, offering a small smile.

Robbe grinned back. He was definitely tired and inundated with work and dying to get coffee in his system, but he certainly did not mind being complimented by hot stranger on the morning train.

"Thanks," he replied, looking back down at the screen and continuing to test the new changes he made to the timeline.

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

"How do you do that… The split thing." The boy pointed to the preview screen playing a shot of Robbe's roommate Jens skateboarding down a rail. The video was fast-moving, the shot splitting up into several bars that almost looked like they melted away into the next, a closeup of the moving board from behind. There was a glitching effect on top of the entire video, making it look like it were filmed on a videocamera from the 90's, quality slightly grainy and colors toned down. It looked almost like a professional advertisement or opening movie sequence, Robbe happy with how it was turning out after almost a week of tweaking it.

"Oh… It's a lot of things." Robbe scrolled down the timeline to the part he was talking about, using his finger on the trackpad to gesture at the frames with his mouse. "I take these… And I divide each of them into five bars, then ten, and keep doubling it. And then I add this gradient on top with the next clip so it almost fades into it, but not, like, in a crappy way." He continued, noting how the boy snorted at his choice of words and watched his mouse move around the screen, following with what he was saying. "And then I merge it all at this one point and both effects work together." He smiled, usually not one to enjoy playing mentor since all of his classmates usually exploited him for his abilities but more than happy to explain anything to the heaven-sent, bleach blonde vision that sat beside him.

The stranger met his eyes again. "Wow. You're really talented," he praised.

Robbe smiled wider. "Thank you."

"So you study film in Brussels?"

Robbe was taken aback by that; did he remember what station he got off at last week?

"Yeah."

"Super cool. Well, I won't distract you anymore," he said with a sparkle in his eye, and Robbe recognized the early stages of flirting when he saw them.

He just let out a small laugh and returned to the project, surprised by how this short conversation had already managed to make his morning that much more bearable. He was also painfully aware of the tingling warmth he felt in his lower stomach; it was way too early to be getting flustered over a thirty-second chat with the guy sitting next to him on the train. Yet, Robbe still considered the idea of pursuing the opportunity by asking the guy about himself, his name, where he studied—whatever basic conversation he had enough experience with to know it would lead to an eventual "Any plans after classes?" and exchange of one's address. It was that time of the year, anyway; weather getting colder, nights getting quieter, the constant reminder of being single never once wavering. Proposing a one-night stand with hot train stranger was not a bad idea at all, Robbe decided.

As he resumed his work, he felt his eyelids growing heavy and threatening to shut, forcing him to blink repeatedly and attempt to recover his focus. Truly, he knew he could be wearing his glasses that he usually used to read the board when in lecture, but he was too exhausted to even fish them out.

He let out a stifled yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. Then another yawn, nearly silent and muffled, again, by his hand. He lightly shook his head to wake himself up, blinking away the dampness from his eyes.

"No sleep again?"

Robbe turned his head. The boy was looking at him again, eyes kind and enticing, and Robbe didn't miss it when they flickered for a half-second to his mouth, darting back up almost immediately.

Robbe snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah… You could say that. Forgot to get coffee before the train," he half-lied.

"Oh. Um…" The boy weakly held out his own paper cup, offering it over. "You can have mine. I didn't drink from it yet."

_What?_

Robbe just looked at the cup in his hand, suddenly feeling all too awake from the gesture alone.

The stranger spoke up again. "It's not poisoned," he smirked, and Robbe glanced up at his face again.

He let out a breathy laugh, feeling like he had been holding it for the past ten seconds. "Oh, okay… Thank you." He returned back a crooked smile, not bothering to refuse the offer and too tired anyway to deny free coffee. He took the cup and the stranger let his hand linger for a second, shooting another sensation through Robbe's arm, which only made him more keen to follow through with his earlier plan.

He brought the cup up to his mouth and took a long sip, letting the rich taste travel through him and warm his insides. It was exquisite. Actually, it made the overpriced coffee he was used to taste like a gritty, watered-down ripoff in comparison.

He thought aloud. "This is really good." He looked almost shocked by the surprise, bringing it back up for another sip.

The stranger smiled beside him. "Thanks. I brewed it myself."

Robbe turned to face him yet again, this time shutting his laptop and holding the cup with both hands, letting the warmth course through him and breathing in the heavenly scent that escaped the lid. He brews his own coffee… pretentious, maybe, but impressive.

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"Wow. Well, thanks again." He smiled, grateful.

"My pleasure," the stranger replied, holding his gaze.

Robbe figured if he were going to say something, he had might as well say it now, since his stop would be in less than twenty minutes and this didn't seem like the type of opportunity to pass up.

"Robbe, by the way." He said, and the guy's face looked entirely way too pleased for someone awake at seven in the morning. Robbe took it as a good sign.

"Sander."

"I'm sorry for falling asleep against you the other day," he said playfully. _Bring up funny memorythat will get him to smile: check._

And the boy laughed. "It's okay. I'm, like, usually half-awake on here anyway. Well, except for when Mr. Corporate is screaming on the phone or someone takes their way-too-excited-at-6-a.m. kids to work."

The comment made Robbe giggle and hide his face behind the cup in his hands. "So true. I almost had to sit next to him today." He made a face.

"Ugh." Sander cringed at the thought. "Well, you got me instead."

"And free coffee." Robbe held up the cup.

Sander laughed, "Yeah, free coffee. Lucky you."

The two smiled at each other, now both entirely turned in their seats to really examine the other's face. Robbe noticed just how dark Sander's natural eyebrows were, contrasting with his white hair. He also noticed how soft his lips looked, pink and moving melodically every time he spoke. And Robbe had to stop himself from staring.

"So, you're an artist," he stated like it were a fact, spotting his portfolio beneath the seat before having joined him.

Sander nodded. "I study visual arts."

"So you can draw?"

He laughed, amused. "Yeah, I draw."

"And paint?"

"Mhm."

"What's better, drawing or painting?" He really did not know enough about the subject to raise any more developed questions, so this is what he would have to work with.

Sander didn't seem to mind, taking a moment to think over his answer. "Hmm… Drawing. I like to reimagine something I've seen, and try to replicate it on paper. Using a reference is nice, too." He paused for a second, seeming to be affected by his own words. He continued, "Painting is nice when I'm feeling really inspired, otherwise I feel like I'm just completing some assignment."

Robbe couldn't agree more. Well, in the context of film assignments, at least. He nodded. "The way you talk about it, I bet you're really good."

"I wouldn't say I'm bad," he replied, clearly using a semi sarcastic tone as to not sound conceited.

Robbe raised his eyebrows. "Modest." Sander laughed. Robbe tilted his head inquisitively. "Where do you get off?"

"Ghent."

"Hm…" Robbe thought for a moment. He figured the guy was a student, thinking he looked far too young to be going to a full-time job two cities over every day. "And you go to university there?"

He nodded, green eyes never leaving Robbe's. He wasn't sure if he had seen eyes prettier than his, he pondered silently. How could they be so light yet dimensional, almost crystalline in appearance, and have such depth that Robbe found it hard to look away for even a second? Sander simply nodded in response, corners of his mouth quirking up as if he were enjoying the continuation of their conversation.

"Nice."

"Yeah, it's nice." His smile didn't falter once.

 _Oh, this is definitely mutual,_ Robbe concluded. "I feel like we've sat beside each other a few times before." He knew it was a bold thing to say, not wanting to sound over-observant to the point where Sander would be creeped out by Robbe having noticed him several times in the past. Nonetheless, he couldn't deny that the boy was both charming and friendly in a way Robbe had rarely witnessed on his morning commute. So, he figured it was worth making the bolder statements if it meant having Sander's eyes twinkle the way they were.

"Oh… Yeah. Yes. We have," he stumbled on his words for a second. Robbe found it cute. But then he shot back, "Paying attention to random guys your age on the six-thirty train then?" He teasingly _tisk_ -ed with his teeth.

Robbe lowered the coffee cup toward his lap, half-rolling his eyes at the accusation. He enjoyed this type of banter. "It's not unusual to notice someone who's on the same train as you every mor— _hic_ ," he covered his mouth with his sleeve. " _Hic._ "

Sander's eyes widened a bit as he watched Robbe fight a hiccup attack, seemingly unable to hide the adoring smile plastered on his face as the boy furiously tried to swallow the noises down.

"You good?" Sander asked, biting back a laugh and continuing to stare at him fondly.

"Yeah, sorry I— _hic_ —sometimes get hiccups from the caffeine," he struggled to explain, feeling embarrassed now. He lowered his sleeve and gave a small smile to the other boy. So much for making a good impression. Still, he brought the cup back to his lips and drank more.

Sander laughed at that. "Can't get enough?"

"It's good…" Robbe spoke, voice muffled by the lid but lively eyes letting Sander know he was smiling behind the cup.

"You owe me something now," Sander quirked an eyebrow, continuing his teasing tone. And if Robbe couldn't get enough of something, it was _this_.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"I don't really have anything to— _hic_ —to offer." He let out a breath, trying not to provoke any more hiccups.

Sander looked straight into his eyes then, speaking softly but with clear intention. "Your company is more than enough."

Okay. Robbe's brain raced through all of the possible ways he thought this conversation was going to go back when he had sat down: curt greetings and ending it at that; awkward small talk; get-to-the-chase proposition for a one-night stand. But not this. Not this kindhearted, candid, surprisingly comforting exchange of words they were having right now. Suddenly, Robbe wished the ride to Brussels were five hours long just so he could hear Sander's life story and then some. His voice was like velvet, like the feeling you get when you're at the movie theater and the lights turn off, and you're immersed in a film. Sander could throw insults at him right now and he would probably find it poetic. Robbe didn't bother to hide the shy smile that danced on his face.

"But I get _your_ company _and_ the coffee, so I still owe you."

Sander shook his head, laughing. "That's cute."

The familiar strip of office buildings appeared out the window and the train slowly lulled to a stop, making Robbe curse to the heavens in his head. This couldn't end here, not when Sander had just called him cute. _That's cute_. It replayed over and over in Robbe's head, as if on an infinite loop and overlapped ten times over.

He couldn't avoid the bustle of people around him, signaling he had to move within the next few seconds. He swiftly put away his computer and stood up, already being pushed toward the door by the others, barely able to bid goodbye.

He shouted over his shoulder in Sander's direction, "Thanks again!" And then he was stepping off the train—nearly being _pushed_ off—with the doors shutting behind him, brisk air hitting his face like a sign of renewal and the rich aroma of the coffee in his hands bringing him peace.

There was no explanation for the complete turnaround in his morning, except for some unexpected encounter with perhaps the only person he wanted to continue talking with right now. He stifled a laugh to himself at the situation; god, he thought, was it really that hard to find a kind soul on public transit these days, that this one encounter had left him feeling lighter than air? It was funny, he decided, and a pleasant surprise, as he left through the doors and began the walk to campus.

**_\- sander -_ **

**tuesday, 06:01**

"He's like, _so_ good at film, I thought I was watching a movie or something."

Sander was walking around the kitchen island, opening the cabinet to grab two paper cups and lids.

"And oh my god, the coffee gave him hiccups. Like he started hiccuping mid-sentence and got all shy because of it. You don't understand." He continued rambling, removing the coffee filter from the pot and beginning to pour the steaming liquid into the cups.

"What's his name again?" Senne asked, leaning against the counter while chewing a bite of toast.

"I haven't told you yet." He stopped what he was doing and faced his roommate, closing his eyes and opening them with a blissful exhale, smiling elatedly and letting the moment linger as if he were about to recite something sacred. "Robbe."

"Hm."

"It suits him so much, you don't know."

"Sander and Robbe," Senne thought aloud, pretending to be contemplating the pairing of names.

Sander continued pouring the coffee and sighed, speaking quietly as if to himself. "Sander and Robbe…" A smile grew on his face and Senne entertained the situation.

"Did you ask for his number?" he pressed.

Sander put down the pot and shook his head, fastening the lids on each cup. "No, no… It wasn't right. It would've been too fast, plus he had to get off before I could say half the things I wanted to. I don't know man, it was like, once I started talking with him I no longer felt like I couldn't breathe from nerves. Like, he's so comforting and cute and… He's perfect, I don't know," he huffed out a breath, realizing how fast he was explaining his thoughts.

Senne snorted. "I thought you were looking for a hookup, no?"

Sander shook his head again, grabbing his jacket, bag, key, and phone, along with the coffees. "No. Well, I was. But now I don't want to mess with… whatever is going on now. I want the strings. This isn't, like, a hookup situation."

"Ah," Senne mused. "I see that. You are bringing him coffee, after all."

Sander shot him a smile. "Yes, because I already know at least one thing that he likes, and it's my coffee."

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"I'll try my best. Feed the cat," Sander reminded him as he held open the door open with his foot, sliding through the entrance into the hallway.

"Don't say anything stupid!" Senne taunted from back in the kitchen, and Sander rolled his eyes as he heard the door shut behind him and made his way down to the lobby of their building.

The walk to Antwerp Central was brisk, the wind picking up unforgivingly this particular morning, but Sander couldn't be bothered to notice. His head was swarming with thoughts, his body itching to feel a specific warmth beside it once again.

Their conversation yesterday had gone smoother than he could have ever anticipated, surprised by his own ability to keep up the banter without dropping a premature love confession just from looking into those big brown eyes.

Robbe had this calming aura about him, Sander pondered, which made it so easy for him to ask questions, show interest in his editing, offer him coffee, tease him. He did accidentally slip out a remark calling Robbe cute but, after having seen the way his eyebrows rose slightly and a barely noticeable blush began to spread across his cheeks, Sander decided he didn't regret saying it. Damn Brussels was too close, he wishes Robbe could've had a chance to respond before he was swept away into the crowd and off the train.

Or maybe Brussels was too far, he thought. Too far from Ghent; what if Sander wanted to visit him between classes one day, and the fare was too costly or he wouldn't return in time, or Robbe wanted to visit him? How would they manage with the distance between them during the week? Sander's mind went a mile a minute, daydreaming about dating Robbe, having Robbe over his flat, Robbe editing videos on his bed while Sander drew at his desk…

He didn't even notice when the familiar revolving doors appeared in front of him, hurrying inside to escape the cold. His grip tightened around the coffees, excitement growing in his stomach as he mentally patted himself on the back for thinking to make Robbe one this morning. He couldn't help it, the boy looked so tired yesterday, so delighted to have been given Sander's coffee that he held so gently with his hands. Sander just hoped he didn't happen to bring his own today.

He walked down the stairs, leaning against a pole and leg bouncing in anticipation. Maybe he was a bit too excited for something so ordinary, the possibility of seeing the guy he just met yesterday, but he was too lost in his expectancy to bother toning it down.

He looked at his phone. Six twenty-six. No sight of Robbe.

He inhaled, breathing out steadily. Maybe he was just running late; he knew how strong the wind was today. Maybe it had begun to snow again since he arrived. _Or maybe he's just not coming,_ his brain nagged. He dismissed the idea, not allowing himself to be disappointed just yet.

But when the train arrived minutes later and there was still no sign of the boy, he felt his heart sink in his chest. He walked toward the doors, contemplating just tossing the extra coffee, until he heard a familiar voice behind him, tugging on his sleeve.

"Hey."

He turned to the side, as both of them made their way onto the train car, maneuvering between the crowd of bodies and sharing the same joyful expression as they met eyes.

"Hey," Sander breathed out, absentmindedly shuffling to the back of the car as Robbe followed him. "Tardy today," he joked, sliding into the back row. Robbe sat beside him as if it weren't a question, as if he knew he didn't need to ask Sander if it was okay.

He smiled shyly and took off his backpack, cheeks still rosy from the cold and speckles of snow adorning his messy hair. "It started snowing on my way."

"I can see that," Sander replied, wanting so badly to simply reach out and brush the snowflakes from Robbe's hair, but the boy ended up doing it himself.

Sander almost forgot about his small surprise. He cautiously lifted one cup toward the boy and spoke quietly, as if unsure whether he were breaking any type of commuter-commuter boundary. "I brought you one today."

"What?" Robbe looked at the cup in front of him which Sander gestured for him to take and Robbe did, not hesitating to reach out, surprisedly beaming at Sander with his big eyes.

"Yeah… I always have extra, so."

"Oh. Thank you." Robbe wasted no time in pulling back the tab from the lid and taking a long sip, reveling in the taste and warmth. "It's really good."

"Don't thank me, maybe I'm going to provoke another oncoming hiccup attack." Sander laughed, taking a sip of his own.

Robbe half-rolled his eyes. "Hey."

"Hey what? It was cute."

Robbe outwardly ignored the comment, drinking the coffee and looking into Sander's eyes as he did. Sander was about to mentally scold himself for the flirting, but Robbe didn't give him the chance before speaking again.

"You don't have your portfolio today." Oh.

It was true, Sander worked until late at the studio the previous night and ended up completing what he would've otherwise brought home. He nodded.

"Yeah, finished at the studio last night."

"Hm."

"Observant."

"Well, I was going to ask to see some of your pieces," he retorted.

Sander's mind did backflips. So Robbe had actually thought about his art, wanted to _see_ it, and was disappointed he didn't have any with him? He should've brought the damn portfolio home last night.

"Oh." Sander couldn't fight the smile that appeared on his face. "I'll bring some tomorrow, promise."

Robbe seemed satisfied with that response, replying back 'cool', before reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone and type out a quick message.

Sander struggled to read the situation; was Robbe just being friendly, was he just returning the gesture of Sander bringing him coffee by showing an interest in his work? He seemed so calm, so casual in his movements as he typed away at his phone and didn't bother to move his leg which brushed against Sander's.

Maybe Sander was in too deep—maybe he crafted this idea of Robbe in his head that realistically wouldn't materialize in front of him. Maybe Robbe did already have someone, maybe he didn't think much of Sander's behavior, passing it off as him simply being cordial.

When a minute passed without Robbe looking up from his phone, Sander decided to take the hint and pulled out his own, along with his headphones. Yeah, he definitely crossed the line. Robbe was weirded out; how could Sander be so bold toward someone he met the day before? What did he think this was—some romance film where the love interest immediately falls into the arms of the pursuer?

He tried not to visually show his disappointment, untangling his headphones and resuming whatever he was listening to last.

He turned his head toward the window, leaning against it and watching his breaths fog up the glass. He used one hand to swipe down the front of his sweatshirt beneath his jacket, noticing the buildup of cat hair that had stuck to the fabric. He needed to start bringing a lint roller with him in the mornings.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tugging on his sleeve. He looked down at where Robbe's hand had grabbed the fabric and glanced up again to see the boy smiling softly, questioningly.

"Hm?" Sander pulled out his earbuds and faced him.

"Sorry, it's just… I love that song." Robbe looked down at Sander's phone, which had been lighting up with a flurry of notifications likely from Senne, his music—currently Bowie's "Rebel Rebel"—at the top of the screen. Sander's eyebrows quirked upward in surprise. Robbe seemed to be so comfortable speaking with him, no sign of embarrassment on his face, just an innocent smile that made Sander's heart beat even faster.

"Oh? You like Bowie?" Sander smirked. He turned his body toward Robbe again and the boy did the same.

He shook his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "Uh… I don't know much about Bowie, but I know 'Rebel Rebel,'" he replied honestly.

Sander nodded in understanding. "Everyone starts somewhere," he teased.

Robbe scoffed, holding in a laugh. "What? You're some expert on him, or?"

"Ooh, I like that. 'Bowie expert.' Yeah, you can call me that."

"Right. So I guess you're not fond of amateurs."

"Amateur or protégé? I can get you to intermediate level in no time."

The boy let out a surprised laugh. "Oh really?"

"Mhm."

"Okay. Is my first lesson now?"

"It can be."

Sander offered one earbud to the boy, who gladly accepted. He opened some generic playlist of top songs, wanting something possibly recognizable to start.

Not even ten seconds into "Space Oddity," Robbe was opening his mouth in realization.

"Oh, I know this one! I know this." He pointed at the screen, humming obnoxiously to the lyrics to prove himself. "See? I know it."

Sander snorted at the boy's excitement, looking at him for a second as an amused grin grew on his lips. He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head, smile never wavering. _Who was this literal angel sat next to him?_

"What?" Robbe laughed.

"Nothing, nothing… Okay." Sander collected himself and unlocked his phone again, carefully choosing his next selection. "We'll do another."

"Starman" began to play, both boys relaxing into their seats and drinking their coffee as they listened. Robbe didn't appear to instantly recognize this one, letting himself enjoy the music.

He looked at Sander. Sander looked back, raising an eyebrow.

"You know this one?"

Robbe shook his head. "No, this coffee is really good." He raised the cup, grinning facetiously.

Sander tilted his head, giving him a 'come on' look, unable to appear annoyed as every action by the boy had only made him grow fonder.

"You already said that. But I'm glad you like it."

"Yeah, well… good coffee, good music, good morning…" Robbe couldn't hold it in then, puffing out a laugh at the cheesiness of his own words, Sander echoing it. He was so endearing, almost painfully so.

And that was how they spent the rest of the ride to Brussels, listening to Bowie, sharing the occasional warm smile, eyes sparkling in content and curiosity.

**friday, 06:24**

And the remainder of the week followed suit.

The next day, Sander brought two coffees again. And his portfolio, this time. He showed Robbe what he was currently working on—the landscapes of spots around Antwerp for the Academy's winter showcase—and Robbe had stared in awe at the intricacy. He ran his finger along the edge of the thick paper, thinking aloud, _"It's almost like a photograph. That's the street to my apartment."_ He had even given a suggestion when Sander explained how the painting of downtown was missing something, something he couldn't determine. Robbe pointed out the clear sky, a plain blue-gray gradient, but he had always noted the moon above the pier on his walks home from the station at night. So Sander had gone to the studio later in the day and added the moon. A few clouds, no stars—it was always far too difficult to make them out in person. And he looked at the result, and he decided that was exactly what the piece had needed.

On Thursday, Robbe had been sorting through the B-roll footage on his camera—random clips and stills to use as filler content in his upcoming assignment. He watched each one, and deleted most, and Sander (who was looking on with him as he did), would almost always let out a gasp and question, _"Why would you delete that one?"_ And Robbe always shrugged, amused at the older boy's interest in the activity. At one point, Robbe hadn't noticed himself looking up from the small screen to gaze out the window beside Sander. The glass was slightly fogged, heavy snowfall visible outside. Sander realized he had stopped scrolling and looked up to follow his line of vision, smirking with realization and looking back at Robbe, who seemed entranced. _"You want to take a video out the window, don't you?"_ And, to his surprise, Robbe had actually offered him the chance to film it himself. Not even five seconds was the recording, as the filler footage was exactly that—a filler—but Sander had felt so accomplished with his camerawork nonetheless. Robbe confirmed, he could use that in his assignment, and they talked until he had to get off.

And today had begun the same as those past few days. Sander woke up with a different feeling than anticipated, far different from the agonizing repetition of his previous mornings. No dragging himself out of bed, nor struggling to brace the cold as soon as he pulled open the heavy doors in the lobby. Today, he walked outside as if the world weren't frozen and bleak; as if he were immune to any inhibitions. He felt weightless, excited but not so much to be anxious, rather in the way he was looking forward to something of familiarity; a new routine. The one that involved Robbe. Because, if he were being honest, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Robbe—at all.

But now it was less of an intrigue from afar, since he had gotten to know the boy. Now, it was like the thought alone of honey-brown eyes and sweet laughter was a source of comfort for him.

He spent more time in the studio the past few days, adjusting his submissions with the inspiration he had picked up from talking with Robbe in the mornings. He incorporated more golds and yellows and reds into his pieces, contrast to his usual choice of blues, purples, grays, cliché as it may sound. And it caught the attention of his supervisor, who commended him for the transformation. Sander's work had always been closely watched by everyone in the department, instructors each hopeful that he would send an application their way to be their teaching assistant for the following year. He was undoubtedly well regarded. However, the sudden glow to his pieces, the use of gold leaf and brightening techniques included, only amplified the attention toward his work.

So things were going well, better than they had been in a while. Senne had definitely noticed, pestering Sander to _finally_ ask Robbe out. He loved to see his roommate happy, and Sander was grateful for the support. So he decided today was as good a day as any other—actually, better.

Today, Sander had to get off at Brussels for a workshop he had signed up for earlier in the year, sponsored by his university. He would have booked the later train, since the class started in a few hours, but he had a plan.

He was hoping the news of him getting off at the same stop as Robbe would lead to an impromptu chance to hang out for a while in the morning. This was assuming that Robbe had extra time before his first class, which should have been the case, since Sander recalls Robbe mentioning how his earliest classes are at nine and he takes such an early train so he can work on campus beforehand. This was also assuming that Robbe would offer the invitation to spend time together.

Sander stood on the platform, rubbing his hands together, bracing the cold and his own nerves that struck up again. He had set his usual two coffees on the ledge beside him, bag on his shoulder and no portfolio today—since he had been so productive in the studio.

Robbe appeared in his peripherals then, walking down the steps to join him. Sander smiled and greeted him _hey_ , handing over Robbe's coffee.

Robbe graciously accepted the gesture, as usual, but tilted his head a bit. "You know, you don't have to bring me coffee _every_ day."

"I know, I know, but… It's probably better than whatever overpriced alternative you were stuck with before," Sander replied.

"You're not wrong."

"I know, because you usually finish the whole thing within fifteen minutes."

"Okay, so?"

"And you wonder why you get jittery before your stop."

"I don't get jittery."

"Right." Sander lifted his own cup to his lips, winking at Robbe to let him know he was only teasing.

The boy shook his head, smiley and looking refreshed as ever as he took his own sip. The train arrived then, on time, and the two headed on like it were routine; Sander walking in front of Robbe, who followed behind and occasionally—as Sander would like to assume after feeling faint pressure on his back every time they headed to their row—placed his hand on Sander's back as to not lose him in the crowd.

They sat down, Robbe promptly pulling out his laptop. He noticed Sander watching him curiously and seemed to take it as a question, nodding his head. "Yeah… Kinda fucked around last night with my roommate and didn't get to finish what I was hoping," he said, laughing off his annoyance in having to work on the train.

"Really? I mean I wouldn't be able to tell. You look fine," Sander spoke.

Robbe looked up. "Thanks. I tend to feel more refreshed the morning after almost blacking out, but I read that can be normal, you know." He smiled and turned back to the screen.

Sander hummed in response. He definitely knew the feeling. He watched Robbe open his editor and go through the typical process of rearranging and enhancing clips.

"Hey!" Sander's brows shot up in excitement as he saw the small bit of footage he had contributed to the project appear in the timeline at the bottom of the screen.

"Yup," Robbe laughed, playing past the barely-two-second footage. "My videographer in training," he playfully remarked. Sander laughed.

"I feel really involved."

"It looks cool."

"Yeah…" Sander smiled as the rest of the video continued to play only until Robbe paused it, finding something else to adjust.

Sander was happy to just watch him. He enjoyed watching people who were really gifted at their craft, when they made it look easy, when it had a calming effect.

"So…" Robbe made conversation as he worked. "You have an early class today, right?"

And Sander knew that he was just being polite, that it was just as possible that he was asking out of the desire to simply make conversation as it was possible that he was asking because he was genuinely interested. Either way, Sander took this as his opportunity to tell Robbe about his different schedule that morning.

"Usually on Friday, yeah, but today I'm actually getting off at Brussels," he watched as Robbe glanced at him confusedly, "for this art instruction I signed up for at the start of the term. My school offers a few of them each month by guest instructors in the bordering cities."

Robbe nodded in understanding and replied, "Oh, that's really cool. So we're getting off at the same stop for once, then," he nudged Sander's shoulder and laughed.

Sander smiled. "Yep."

"The area's really nice, near the station. I mean, I imagine you've been there many times."

"Yeah, of course. But I actually have free time to enjoy it this time, which is nice."

"Mmm." Robbe conclusively hummed and went back to work on his project, leaving the conversation there.

Okay. It didn't feel strange, just a normal instance of smalltalk ending in its own normal, blunt fashion. In fact, it wasn't even blunt; everything with Robbe seemed to flow so naturally, it wasn't abnormal at all.

But it was making Sander's mind reel. Because his entire plan of spending time with Robbe _outside_ of a train car for once was beginning to seem less and less likely. Because he hadn't suggested they do something together. He hadn't even entertained the idea, as his now neutral expression indicated.

And Sander considered, maybe he had a lot to get done at the library this particular morning. He wouldn't want to come as a distraction to that. But, proving him wrong, Robbe looked down at his computer screen satisfied and decidedly saved the file and closed his laptop. Sander knew from their few mornings together that that meant Robbe finished what he was intending to finish; if he needed more time on campus, he likely would have worked until they pulled up to the station.

He has other classes, other assignments, he's a _student_ , he's busy just like you, Sander told himself. But he couldn't help but notice how Robbe didn't seem flustered at all; not like the type of person that had a hefty morning awaiting them.

He chose to remain optimistic. Maybe when they actually got off the train, and walked in the same direction out of the station, Robbe would keep talking to him and mention one of his favorite parts of the city, or campus, or anything that would lead to them venturing somewhere together. Sander would take anything, if it meant getting to spend time with Robbe.

When they had finally arrived, Sander's blood pressure didn't let up one bit as he followed the bustling crowd toward the doors. He didn't lose sight of Robbe at all, as the boy remained right in front of him, which was only making his heart rate quicken. They reached the exit and stepped off not even a second apart, standing side-by-side, and now walking in the same direction off the platform as others swarmed around them.

Robbe turned to Sander and shot him a smile, sending a quick wave as he diverted his path to the right. "I'll see you."

And Sander couldn't ignore the absolute _drop_ in his chest, the shattering of what was left of his faltering optimism. But he smiled back, and sent a wave in return. Standing there, alone. And Robbe had turned back around to face the direction he was walking in, now nearly ten feet away when they had just been so close to touch. A mile away, might as well have had been. And Sander watched him walk up to a boy who looked Robbe's age, maybe a year older, what did it matter—he watched Robbe look happier as ever to greet him, not missing the way he reached out to brush aside a strand of Robbe's hair from his forehead before the two headed out of the station together.

Sander couldn't bother to notice the people zipping around him, heading to the next train that would be arriving soon, crossing in front of him and temporarily blocking his vision as Robbe soon became lost in the masses. He couldn't bother to notice the fact that he was standing still in the midst of it all, likely frustrating those trying to move around him. What he did notice was the steady fading away of the excited sensation that lived in his chest from the moment he woke up, almost entirely gone now. He felt it simmer, and come to a stop. All he felt now was emptiness, not even bothering to muster any semblance of a possibility that Robbe was still his, or potentially his, in any way.


	2. playing hide-and-seek and giving me your weekends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> —chapter title is from "cardigan" by taylor swift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who read and left comments and kudos on the first chapter, i literally reread the comments over and over because they make me so happy …. i hope you enjoy this one and thank you times a million for reading!!!

**_\- robbe -_ **

**monday, 22:50**

_What are the three major perceptual properties of film sound? Loudness, pitch…_

"Pitch…" Robbe hit his head with the flashcard, failing to focus.

"Timbre." Jens walked into the living room and read from the back of the card as he joined Robbe cross-legged on the floor, tea in hand. "For you." He handed it to Robbe.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "I wish silent film were still a thing." He dramatically threw the remaining stack of flashcards for his Sound & Mixing course into the air around them, scattered across the floor. Jens picked up one that landed in his lap.

"In film sound, 'fidelity' refers to…?"

"Whether the sound comes from within the diegetic space of the story."

"Yes," Jens tossed it behind him without looking. "Whatever that means."

Robbe sighed and took a sip of the tea, leaning back against the couch. He immediately sputtered the liquid back into the cup, licking his lips and placing it on the ground beside him.

"That tastes like shit," he said, voice hoarse. Jens rolled his eyes and shrugged. Robbe began picking up a few of the flashcards then, speaking quietly, as if telling an inside joke he had with himself. "You know who's probably good at making tea?"

"Who?"

Robbe looked up, dumbstruck. "What?"

"Who's probably good at making tea?"

He blinked, staring at Jens for a moment, who just looked at him confusedly. He shook his head and coughed out a laugh, continuing to pick up the cards. "No one. Not you, definitely."

"Geez," Jens whistled through his teeth at Robbe's noticeably snide tone, leaning back on his hands. "Boy drama?" He put on a smug face, knowing he was only aggravating him further.

Robbe sighed deeply but didn't respond nor look up, completely aware that if he started talking about this he likely wouldn't be able to stop, as he hadn't ever been the type to confide in people about his personal dilemmas—if he did, it was with Jens, but never sober and never coherent—and eventually all of those conflicting thoughts just overflowed in his mind, and became _too much_.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Robbe finally met his eyes. "Do you have a joint?"

Jens, as if having read his mind, reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled one out, giving a lopsided grin.

It was midnight when Robbe finally felt relaxed enough to speak his mind, passing Jens the joint and ruffling his hair with his hand. The two had been at the flat the entire day, along with their other roommates, since most universities had called off classes due to the weather. For most, it was an appreciated extended weekend; but for Robbe, it only left him less distractions from the current stressors he was facing.

"Tristan," he breathed out, lying on his side now and looking up at Jens.

"Well, I figured as such." Jens laughed, blowing out smoke through his lips. "He's still chasing you, mm?"

Robbe closed his eyes momentarily, speaking lowly. "I really don't think he gets it."

"I thought you did like him, no?"

Robbe rolled onto his stomach, facing the wall and playing with the drawstring of his sweatshirt, staring ahead blankly.

Did he like him? He grappled with the answer, or _answers_. Because, yes, there were moments when Robbe had felt the possibility of something there. He and Tristan had shared enough classes with each other to know that they were headed into the same field, same specialty, same goals. Robbe could go over their history as friends, relay the rare instances of more-than-friendly attraction he felt toward him, but he couldn't avoid the question that constantly pounded his head, _is this all there is?_ There comes a point where regular hookups with the next person you make eye contact with in a crowded room fall into a mundane pattern. And to have some constant in his life that wasn't dependent on fleeting moments of excitement, was what he really wanted, what he lost sleep over, what he longed for when walking down the street to the flatshare alone.

Whether Tristan could offer him that was mostly a question of fulfillment. And at the other end, Robbe couldn't truthfully say he felt like it was enough. So maybe Tristan seemed like the answer on some shallow level, but Robbe knew it would only be cruel for him to pursue something he so deeply knew would never be enough.

"Robbe, just speak." Jens puffed out more smoke, encouraging his friend to release the thoughts that were so evidently clouding his mind.

Robbe didn't hesitate. "He doesn't get it."

Jens muttered to himself, "There we go."

"It's like an ongoing cycle, 'oh, we should catch this movie together, Robbe,' 'let's review each other's work, Robbe,' 'let's go to this bar; the library; I'll pick you up from the train station.' And I do all of those things, and it's… nothing. I feel nothing. Well, I feel something at first, and I get excited to see him because it's like an illusion of what I actually want—I don't even know what I want," He rambled, his high making him speak at a slower pace than his mind was going, and he didn't want to push it to the point of panic. Jens just nodded along, slightly zoning out as he let Robbe talk to no one in particular, still looking ahead and furrowing his eyebrows as if unable to conceal the frustration that came with the subject. "And I can't help but think that he doesn't even know me well enough—well, he _knows_ me, in that sense, whatever; he doesn't know me enough to be pushing this the way he is, because if he really did, he would realize we're not what the other needs. And he's so career-driven to the point where I don't even think he's studying this because he enjoys it; he just knows he has enough connections and opportunities in the field to succeed. Whatever, sorry, I don't mean to give him a full read—" Robbe blinked a few times, holding out his hands as if trying to grasp some explanation that wasn't there. "And there's me, if I go for this I know I'm settling somehow because it's right in front of me. I mean—my understanding of whether I like someone seems so driven by my desperation to _find_ someone, that I can't even tell if I'm actually into them or it's just… that. I'm starting to become that person that can't even come to terms with reality well enough that I'll be, I don't know, looking up from my phone and suddenly falling for the stranger sat next to me on the train to uni."

"There's a stranger on the train to uni?" Jens suddenly tuned in to Robbe's venting and rose his eyebrows.

Robbe refocused then, looking at Jens incredulously and knitting his brows. "What? No." He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "Listen, I just really, _really_ need to get drunk or something."

"We get wasted like once a week."

Robbe stared at him frustratedly. "I mean not just us two in the living room while Aaron and Moyo call it a night after one beer."

Jens nodded in understanding. "No problem, I'm throwing a party here Friday."

"What?"

"Uh, yeah."

"When did you decide that?"

"…Right now?"

"Okay, you know what—good. but you're covering the drinks, I paid last time."

"You know what, man…" Jens shuffled to his feet, patting a hand on Robbe's back and looking down at him. "I'll cover all the costs, I'll buy our groceries this week, I'll make you dinner tomorrow. Just so we can get this," he motioned to Robbe's face with his hand, "feeling better. Okay? I'll tell people about the party tomorrow." He turned and headed to his room for the night.

Robbe collapsed onto his back from exhaustion, exhaling deeply. He felt like he could just fall asleep right there, feeling the heaviness of his eyelids and the steadying of his heartbeat, the coolness of the wood floor on the back of his neck, the blurring of light as he finally gave in.

**tuesday, 06:30**

" _Fuck,_ " Robbe said under his breath as he nearly toppled down the stairs to try and reach the train, watching as the last person slipped through the doors and they began to close. "Wait!" He called out, and sighed in relief as a woman stuck her hand out the door to keep it open. He thanked her, out of breath, and tried to keep his balance as he headed to the back of the car, his legs feeling like they could give out at any moment.

He wouldn't recommend sleeping on wood floors all night in the middle of winter, even if it had been his first time getting over four hours in what felt like forever. He only got so much sleep because he forgot to set his alarm, cursing at himself when Aaron had shook his shoulder to get him to wake up, none of them having realized Robbe was still there when the train would leave in twenty minutes. So he managed to go through the world's quickest morning routine and realize halfway to the station that he left his camera charging in his room. He decided to leave it; he would just tell his professor he was getting a repair done. Or something.

All he needed right now, after downing a glass of water since waking up, was _coffee._ And if there was one thing he could count on, during this already hellish day, it was that.

He could have cried in relief at the sight of bleached hair in the back row, quickly occupying the seat next to him.

Sander didn't look at him for a moment, though, despite Robbe being fully turned to greet him. He looked down and—oh. No coffee. Not even one for Sander. He dipped his head down a little, to try and see if any were on the ground, or next to the window. The boy looked at him then, Robbe suddenly feeling like a greedy kid for being so nosy about something that was just a kind gesture, the expression on Sander's face telling him that he really didn't have any with him today.

"Out of filters." He spoke quietly, almost grimly and Robbe felt a small twist inside of him at the tone.

"Oh. That's okay," he laughed lightly, offering a smile which Sander returned weakly. He couldn't tell if it were a lie, but he didn't press. He just watched as the boy showed no intention of speaking with him, leaning his elbow against the window and looking out, face unreadable.

Robbe showed surprise at having been ignored so quickly, really not having the energy to fight it. _Okay, he's pissed,_ he thought to himself and pulled out his phone to find some other distraction. At this rate, he knew the rest of his day was bound to be shit, so he surrendered any remaining hope he had for his classes to go well.

Sander really didn't acknowledge him once for the remaining forty-five minutes. Not a word. Robbe recoiled from the feeling of sheer discomfort the silence brought upon him, unlike their past moments where they hadn't exchanged a word, when it simply felt natural, relaxed.

Robbe decided he hated it. He moved on from anger, beginning to feel worried. Whatever was causing Sander to act this way, this closed-off and frigid, he wished he could take care of it. He didn't know the boy outside of their brief time together in the mornings, but he knew he was undeniably a kind person, and this sudden contrast with his usual warm exterior made Robbe realize that he had actually looked forward to taking the train with him at the beginning of his days, he enjoyed his company—not only enjoyed, the sinking feeling in his chest nearly felt like he was having withdrawals from it, having needed some reassurance on this morning in particular. But again, he didn't press, didn't want to come off as confrontational. So when he eyed the telling line of buildings out the window, he took in a breath, and settled for a trite "bye" to Sander, loud enough for the boy to know he was talking to him.

And Sander looked at him, and said _"Bye, Robbe,"_ a sad smile on his lips that failed to meet his eyes. And Robbe just had to look into his eyes—well, he always did, because he had genuinely been enraptured by them since having met Sander—and noticed the dullness behind them, dark circles making him look more tired than ever, and Robbe for some reason felt his heart split open at the sight.

He gave a small smile in return and waved as he headed with the crowd to the doors. He felt physically uncomfortable, and almost like he wanted to vomit (not helped by his sprint to the station an hour ago still haunting his stomach), the image of sad eyes and paint-stained hands tearing at his gut. He wanted to pry open the train doors and just go back, and offer his ability just to listen, if there was even anything to be said, or to have Sander show him more Bowie songs, of which he honestly couldn't get enough, or just lean against Sander's side—this time on purpose—and catch up on the sleep he missed last week, and dream about _that_ Sander, and _those_ mornings.

But he couldn't do that.

He trudged through the leftover snow that lay frozen on the ground, feeling as if there were a similar layer of ice coating his insides, making him feel so ill. He swallowed down most of the feeling that he could, mentally preparing himself for whatever else the universe could throw at him in the next few hours as he reached campus.

**wednesday, 06:27**

_It's stupid. It's stupid. It's stupid._ Robbe internally berated himself as he zipped through the bustling train station, heading toward the stairs with a package of paper coffee filters in his hand. He took Jens up on his offer to do the grocery shopping the previous evening, and attempted to sneak coffee filters on the list, pretending to be unaware.

When Jens had peeked his head into Robbe's bedroom before heading out, questioning the addition to their usual restocking, Robbe had said he needed them for some life hack he read online to help clean his camera lenses. It was convincing enough, as proven by the lack of further questions from Jens. And, as expected, he came back from the store with the filters.

Walking down to the platform now, though, Robbe suddenly felt immensely foolish and self-conscious about it all. It wasn't exactly an equal exchange for the gifts Sander had given him for several days now, but he wanted to express his thanks somehow beyond just his words, and he also decided to believe that it was the real reason Sander came empty-handed the day before.

And he also really, really hoped the small gesture would evoke _some_ semblance of a smile from the boy, a real smile, the image of his hauntingly bereft demeanor from yesterday still nagging at Robbe's mind. So he just really wanted to mend whatever of that that he could, even with a small purchase from the grocery. Also, he didn't consider himself the most innovative when it came to raising others' spirits—but this would have to do.

He made it just in time, people heading onto the 6:30, Robbe attaching himself to the crowd so he could swiftly make it through to his usual seat.

As it ended up, he found himself walking directly behind the exact person he was looking for, after having maneuvered through the mass of people in the aisle. He observed everything about the boy in front of him, the way he walked, the step of his boots sounding through the car, his hand on the strap of his bag. How he layered his hooded sweatshirt beneath his leather jacket, how his faded black jeans had a few dispersed bleach stains on them. And he looked so effortlessly cool, without Robbe even seeing his face, he just always looked so in his element and maybe that was what initially drew Robbe to him, and made him feel so comfortable in his presence. There wasn't any artificiality to him. He spoke about art and music and Antwerp and university and the annoying people on the train with sincerity. Transparency. Maybe leaving enough to keep you wondering, still, about the unknown aspects he had yet to reveal—if he ever would. Robbe appreciated that. And when Sander locked eyes with him as they took their seats right after another, he allowed himself to drown in green. His eyes were slightly more lively than the morning before, and it was enough for Robbe to instantly get lost.

He breathed out, "Hey."

"Hey." Sander didn't turn away today, and Robbe took it as a good sign. Or a sign at all, easing his unusual nervousness. Why was he nervous?

"I, uh…" Robbe held out the package in his hand, displaying his offering to Sander shyly. "Got you these."

Sander looked down at the filters, eyebrows furrowing momentarily before his face relaxed in realization.

"Oh! Oh. Because I ran out. Right," he laughed, gently accepting the gift, and looking up at Robbe again. "Thank you." There was a curious glint in his eyes, though, and he seemed to be searching Robbe's, who was still staring at him.

"Not that I'm, like, trying to get you to keep making me coffee every day," Robbe tripped over his words, scratching the back of his neck and begging himself to maintain a chill expression. "But, yeah. And thank you, for doing that."

Sander looked slightly taken aback again by Robbe's shyness, and Robbe kicked himself for it, cursing his own inability to stay cool. A smile teased Sander's lips and he replied as he tucked the package into his bag.

"It's no big deal, really. I'm just happy I can resume our routine now," he said in reference to Robbe's contribution, and the boy could feel himself blush.

He took a breath and desperately tried to suppress the unexpected reaction to Sander's words, but found himself struggling to even craft a response. _Our routine._ They had a routine. Well, Robbe guessed that they did. That is why he had looked forward to his six-AMs, after all. Because it became a routine. With Sander. _Their routine._

He coughed.

"Right. I think we were doing pretty well," he finally managed in his usual playful manner from the preceding week, and he just thrived on the way Sander's expression brightened at the words.

"Oh, everyone else here is jealous of us," Sander hit back, eyeing the rest of the passengers before looking back at Robbe.

And Robbe could live in this moment forever. He laughed brightly, nerves beginning to simmer but remaining active enough for him to grow flustered at the fact that the feeling simply refused to go away, only intensifying when Sander smiled—a real smile. Robbe considered it a success, still noticing the tiredness that remained on the boy's face similar to yesterday, but today rectified by the twinkle in his eyes. He really was beautiful on any day, Robbe knew, and he felt almost giddy with the realization that he was sat right beside him.

Before either could say another word, Robbe's thoughts were rudely interrupted by the buzz of his phone going off, and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Sander just eyed the device, lips still quirked upward in a small smile, as if asking Robbe if he was going to pick it up.

Robbe just fumbled with the phone in his hands, _really_ resisting the urge to roll his eyes—or throw his phone down the aisle—upon reading the name on the screen.

The screen read _Tristan,_ his contact photo a fond memory of when he and Robbe were invited to a movie premiere by their professor last year, black tie and all. He unlocked his phone and raised it to his ear, speaking lowly.

"Hey."

"Hey, Robbe. You're on the train?"

"Yep…" He looked to Sander, who held his gaze.

"Okay, cool. Was just wondering if you had time to go over the unit review we were given last week? I'm headed to the library."

Robbe stayed staring at Sander, letting the lie escape his lips. "I won't be on campus until later today." Sander's brows rose questioningly, and Robbe felt himself smile at how endearing he was without even being aware.

"What? I thought you just said you were on the train?"

Robbe was shaken out of his daydream, or staring contest, or whatever this was—and realized just how undeveloped his lie had been.

He blinked a few times and looked away from Sander, mustering some sort of believable story. "Sorry, I meant… I'm walking _to_ the train, now. Sorry. You know me, no sleep," he fake-laughed. "So I'll be late."

"Uh, okay," Tristan spoke from the other end of the line. "I'll maybe see you later, then."

"Yeah, see you later." He hung up and lowered his phone.

"You're walking _to_ the train?" Sander teased, and Robbe rubbed his hands over his face in part embarrassment, part annoyance from even having had to lie in the first place.

He looked directly at Sander and spoke quietly, not even registering his words before they came out. "You know when you avoid reality for so long that you feel like one day it's going to come back to you all at once?" He couldn't even manage a laugh to signal whether it was a joke, because he honestly wasn't even sure himself.

But Sander's eyes softened, and he responded without a hint of hesitation. "I know that exact feeling."

To Robbe's surprise, he felt completely at ease when it came time for him to leave. From having spent the rest of the ride talking about favorite movies with Sander—who seemed to be greatly driven by the soundtracks when evaluating the quality of a film—he barely noticed the time had passed. Ideally, he would be able to continue their conversation, for hours, as they seemed to never run out of things to talk about, but the slowing of the vehicle dragged him out of that fantasy.

He felt smiley and almost like a child, grabbing his backpack and letting out a conclusive statement. "I guess we have a lot of movies we need to watch, then. I'll let you be the judge of the music, though." He knew it was an empty promise, and he was just saying it, but spending an entire day inside watching his and Sander's favorites nearly sounded like a dream.

Sander just grinned back at him, watching his movements as he began to stand up from his seat. "I guess we do. Bye, Robbe."

"Bye, Sander."

And he was hurried out of the way, as always, only processing his surroundings after stepping off the train, feet hitting cement.

Looking out at the bustling crowd, at the rare beam of sunlight illuminating the walk ahead of him, it was a better day, he decided.

_All the other days are jealous._

**_\- sander -_ **

**thursday, 21:40**

Eraser shavings piled around the edges of Sander's sketchbook, his desk lamp providing a dim light for him to work.

His brain felt like it was going a mile a minute lately, and this was the best remedy he knew to slow it down. Completely lost in an image, an idea in his mind, something so clear it felt as if he were referencing a photograph, instead of a memory.

Yet another page looked back at Sander with those same eyes, those that held some unidentifiable reticence, as if withholding a secret, something sacred. Robbe lived on all these pages, in one way or another. If it wasn't a sketch of him—his face, his hands, his eyes—he was there in the rough depictions of the tall entryway to Antwerp Central, or the ornate letters for Sander's typography course. He frequented the train tracks and boarding tickets and Nikon cameras and mock movie posters.

And the snow. _God, it was snowing so much._

So the many sketches of white-covered trees and rooftops and piers and the rail overlooking the water, Robbe lived in all of those.

When Sander leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh, being the only noise in the room, he felt a feathery warmth ease between his ankles and leave him ticklish. He looked beneath the desk, finding his and Senne's cat Dusty hiding against the wall, long tail curling up once having realized she was spotted. She padded forward so Sander could effortlessly raise her to his chest with his graphite-smeared hands. He held her in the air for a moment, hands secured beneath her arms, and tilted his head as the animal stared back at him.

"I bet you wouldn't be able to offer me some advice right now, right?"

The cat remained unmoving, eyes still fixed on Sander's. He nodded.

"Didn't think so." He held her to his chest as if carrying a child, so that she could look over his shoulder, and stroked her back, staring at the illustration in front of him.

He felt lost, more so than usual. After feeling his heart sink at the idea that Robbe really was taken, he thought it best not to drag out his efforts to establish anything with the boy beyond being the person he sits beside on the morning train. And to say he felt bad would be a terrible understatement… He didn't miss the disappointment cast over Robbe's soft features when he so blatantly ignored him on Tuesday. It pained him to do so, but he was so afraid of sinking even deeper into something already so inescapable.

And yesterday falling victim to his own credulity, like the hope he suppressed over the long weekend were a flattened spring, compressed for days until finally released. And the reason being coffee filters. Well, it was really Robbe's _face_ when giving them to Sander, the unfamiliar flush of pink and stumbling of words. He'd never seen Robbe look so small, _nervous_. And he blamed it on his closed-offishness from the day prior, making Robbe so unsure of where they stood. Maybe somewhere, in the back of his mind, he held the possibility that Robbe wasn't only aiming to mend their friendship, if you could call it that, but the prospect of something else.

Really, the excuse for not bringing coffees was a lie, but Sander felt even worse thinking about bringing one just for himself, so it was the best he could manage on the spot. Of course, he felt foolish for it now. And his plan to distance himself from Robbe had clearly been aborted within a number of days, so.

He felt lost because his optimism wholly clashed with the closeness of the two figures he watched leave the station in Brussels on Friday. He didn't know if he was misreading something, or if the world really was that cruel. But of course he couldn't _not_ bring Robbe coffee today, and his heart nearly exploded in his chest when the boy's face lit up as if having received the greatest news, he was just beaming. He was beautiful. And for them to have had spent the entire ride to Brussels talking about the trials and tribulations of having roommates, for Sander to laugh wholeheartedly for the first time in days, it felt like everything was okay. Robbe's unwavering smile served as confirmation, and Sander only wished he could capture the sight to have forever…

A knock sounded from his open doorframe and he hummed to let Senne know to enter.

"Ah, my two favorite roomies bonding," Senne smirked and sat at the edge of Sander's bed. Sander turned to face him, still petting Dusty as the chaos in his brain didn't let up.

"Oh look, it's my second favorite roomie," Sander teased, surprised at his own ability to even show signs of humor with his mind having been this jumbled.

Senne gave him a look and decided against carrying out their banter, speaking seriously. "How are you?"

"Uh," Sander let out a surprised laugh. "I'm good? How are you?" The cat leaped out of his embrace and over his shoulder, sauntering around the room.

"Is it so weird for me to ask? And I'm good, thanks."

"No, just… Anyway. The reason you came here?"

"I just wanted to talk, see how you've been. Robbe updates…?" He quirked a brow in curiosity, Sander rolling his eyes.

"I have none."

"Oh, yeah? Then what's that?" Senne craned his neck to look over Sander's shoulder at his sketchbook, portrait of Robbe still on full display.

Sander moved to his left to block his vision and huffed in annoyance. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I'm done for. Like I'm completely done." He dramatically relaxed his entire body in the chair, arms dangling at his sides, and stared up at the ceiling. His throat bobbed as he spoke. "Ninety percent sure he's with someone."

"And the other ten percent?"

"Please, I can't set myself up like this."

"I'm just saying…" Senne paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "You know, I tell you every day to just go for it; to just ask him for his number—hell, ask him out somewhere. Trusting that feeling is how I'm with Zoë and Zoë's with me, you know… And I don't think either of us regret the decision. Or, I hope not…" he laughed lightly, easing the seriousness of his tone. "Look, I've never met this guy but I've met the version of _you_ after you met him, and I can confidently say I've never seen you so gone for someone in your life."

Sander groaned. "I _am_ gone."

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow what?"

"Tomorrow, you ask for his number. And if you don't, I'm selling all of your—" he looked around the room at Sander's art setup. "—easels and paint and shit online and you'll come home to an unpleasant surprise. So do this, for me."

Sander lifted his head to look at his roommate, thinking. Senne reached out and grabbed an unopened box of charcoal pencils from Sander's desk, pretending to inspect it. "Oh, I could probably get, what… ten, twelve euros for th—" Sander grabbed the box from his hands, replacing it on his desk.

"Try forty. And okay, fine."

"Fine…?"

"Fine, I'll ask for his number."

Senne smiled triumphantly, earning another eyeroll from Sander. "But, I also wanted to tell you I won't be here when you get home, and probably for most of Saturday. Staying with Zoë."

Sander nodded, used to the news. "Got it."

"Feel free to invite anyone over, you know… whose name starts with 'R'… great smile, brown hair…" Senne teasingly recalled the details from Sander's drawings.

"I get it, I get it," Sander huffed out a laugh, motioning toward the door. "Now leave me to endure my crisis in peace."

Senne stood to head out, pausing to look back before entering the hallway. "I want the best for you, man. Okay?"

Sander nodded, staying silent.

"Goodnight."

"Night," Sander replied as his roommate was gone from view, footsteps sounding down the hall.

**_\- robbe -_ **

**friday, 06:40**

"You know, I think I like it up here better." Robbe stared out the window at the passing buildings and trees. He brought his finger to the fogged glass and drew a smiley face, turning to Sander.

Sander shook his head, reached over, and drew a sad face next to it.

"What?"

"The back is better." Sander sulked. The two of them had unluckily boarded too late—too distracted by each other—that the back rows, where they usually sat, were already occupied. Sander had already explained to Robbe last week that it was the best option because _"there's no one behind you to see what you're doing and your conversations are less likely to be overhead."_ He huffed, "You're only happy because you got window seat."

"You always get the window."

"It makes sense; your stop is first. Now you have to climb over me."

Robbe ignored the many flirtatious responses that immediately came to mind. "You were the one that gestured for me to go first."

"Because we were being trampled by everyone behind us! And how do people not know that the back row is ours? We literally sit there every day."

Robbe laughed in amusement. "Sander, it's the morning train, not assigned seating in primary school."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Robbe placed a hand on his wrist and gave a light squeeze, Sander looking up. "We'll get the back row next time, okay?" he spoke in a jokingly infantilizing voice.

Sander sighed loudly. "Okay…" Robbe smiled and removed his hand. His phone went off then, new messages from Jens appearing.

 **_Jens:_ ** _hey…_

 **_Jens:_ ** _might've accidentally invited T to party tonight, don't hate me_

Robbe only glanced at the screen for a second but it was enough for him to look back and reread the message three times, his eyes widening.

"What?" he said to himself in a whisper, hastily replying back.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _??!!!_

He began typing a mile a minute, about to scold his friend via a long, angry text, when Jens called him. Robbe's panic didn't go unnoticed by Sander, who looked at him quizzically.

"You okay?"

Robbe nodded, swiping to answer the call. "Yeah, sorry. One second."

Jens spoke through the line. "Robbe, don't—"

"Jens, _what?!_ " Robbe whisper-yelled, not wanting to draw attention from other passengers.

"Word got around, I don't know… I told people to let only one or two others know; You know Tristan is linked to both of our circles. Anyway. I can't just un-invite him."

_"Un-invite him!"_

"Robbe, chill. There's gonna be a lot of people, you probably won't even have to see him."

"Jens…"

"I'm sorry! But it's gonna be chill, okay?" Robbe stayed silent for a moment. "Robbe?"

"Okay."

"So you'll still be here?"

"I don't know."

Jens sighed from the other end. "Okay. Just text me, alright? I'm sorry."

"It's fine… I will."

They said goodbye and Robbe could actually scream. He honestly wasn't looking forward to the social aspect of the party, or really anything else besides getting so drunk as to wake up not remembering the previous night. Knowing Tristan would be there, likely looking for him, and still not understanding his own feelings about _anything_ —Robbe just wanted to lock himself in his room for the entire time.

"Hey…" Sander squeezed Robbe's wrist just as he had done moments earlier, searching his eyes. "What's up?"

Robbe met his gaze and felt any words get caught in his throat, now just seeking out the comfort of Sander's green on his own brown, instantly making him feel grounded, back to earth.

"Nothing, I…" He grew quiet, not wanting to air his problems to Sander, especially something that probably seemed so trivial.

Sander titled his head slightly as to ask Robbe to continue.

"My uh… My roommate… We were supposed to host this party tonight, basically an excuse to get drunk, and he just invited the _reason why_ I wanted to get drunk, so now I'm like…" He trailed off, and Sander nodded in understanding.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"And it's the same person you lied to about getting to campus late the other day?" There wasn't an ounce of judgment in Sander's words, just genuine regard for Robbe's dilemma.

He nodded, breathing out a laugh. "Yeah. Wow, I guess I really need to work on the subtlety of avoiding someone on purpose." He said it more to himself, now looking down, the fact that Sander hadn't let go of his wrist not going unnoticed.

"You, uh…" He cleared his throat, and Robbe looked up. "You can… You can hang at mine if you want. I was just planning on staying in and my roommate's out for the night, so."

"What?" Robbe asked right away, expression failing to conceal the total shock from Sander's suggestion.

"Yeah, I mean. Or no, if you wanted to go to the party anyway. Sorry." He stumbled on his words, regret readable across his features. Robbe felt the faint grip on his wrist disappear, and his chest subsequently drop a little, so little but Robbe didn't miss it.

He could barely weigh the pros and cons of the option in his head, any logic totally clouded by images of what Sander's living space could've looked like. Did he keep it minimal, or did it very obviously belong to an artist, with paintings and materials everywhere?; What color would the walls be—What did the kitchen look like? Robbe bet it was neat; Sander didn't seem like the disorganized type. All of these thoughts raced through his mind as Sander still sat there, looking guilt-ridden for having offered, and Robbe immediately decided against turning him down—he needed a way out of the party at his flat tonight and, as he realized from looking into Sander's eyes just now, he really, _really_ wanted to spend the time with the boy in front of him instead.

"Okay," he said firmly.

And Sander's worry visibly began to dissipate, a small smile on his lips. "Yeah?"

Robbe nodded.

"Okay, um… Well I guess we should take the same train back, then… Then we can walk from the station together."

For some reason, Sander's words, 'we,' 'together,' set Robbe's excitement high, and he felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He nodded again.

"Yeah, okay. When is yours?"

"I usually get the five-thirty," Sander replied.

Robbe did the math in his head, figuring he could take the later train so they would meet at Brussels at the same time. "Okay, I can get the six-ten. That should be yours, right?"

Sander nodded, "Yeah. Sounds good."

"Thank you," Robbe blurted out. He really was grateful for the invitation, among all of the other feelings he was being hit with at the moment.

"Yeah, of course. Do you, um, want to exchange numbers just in case?"

And, oh.

It hadn't occurred to Robbe that the universe that only existed between six and eight o'clock in the morning, the one in which Sander lived, the one where he brought Robbe coffee and played him music and made him laugh, was beginning to blur with the rest of reality. They would be taking the night train together later, and then going to Sander's _apartment_ , and they were exchanging numbers. Well, they weren't just yet, because Robbe had still sat there in silence, struggling to register the situation.

"Robbe?"

"Oh, yes. Let's do that," he said quickly, handing over his phone and Sander did the same, smile still there.

As Robbe typed his digits into Sander's contact list, he only felt his anticipation multiply. Everything was moving so fast.

He just wanted uni to last five seconds, so he could board the six-ten already. And he felt like a child, wishing the time away, unable to hide the wide grin on his face when handing the phone back. When Sander gave him his, now with his newly added contact information, Robbe quickly pulled up his messages with Jens.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _have new plans for tonight_

 **_Robbe:_ ** _but please have the time of your life without me and close the door to my room_

 **_Jens:_ ** _oh ok_

 **_Jens:_ ** _and don't worry we will. hope u have fun too, wherever u may be…_

**_\- sander -_ **

**friday, 18:45**

Sander's heart was beating unnecessarily fast. He looked to his right, where Robbe had leaned his chin on his hand and was peering out the train window, the world outside dark as the sun had set an hour earlier.

He thought about the position he was currently in; what was happening in real life and not some fleeting dream sequence. He had spent the entire day fighting to stay focused in class, nearly jumping every time someone tapped his shoulder or a friend called his name. His head was _spinning._ The very idea that Robbe would be coming over to his flat—that Sander had _invited_ him over and he said yes—was throwing him through a loop.

He felt it only right to have offered for Robbe to come over, what with the panicked state he was in after his phone call that morning. And Sander understood it, understood the desperation to avoid someone, as he had definitely experienced his fair share of unwanted encounters with people from his past.

Robbe had seemed so happy, so relieved after they had settled on meeting later. And Sander was quick to shoot Senne a message letting him know that yes, he did get Robbe's number. And he was coming over tonight. Senne sent back maybe twelve messages in celebration, telling Sander he's lucky he's such a clean roommate and the place looks spotless, to which Sander rolled his eyes. Although, he definitely was grateful for Senne's cleanliness, and even more so for his promise to not spam him a million messages throughout the night—that he would just be dishing about the whole thing to Zoë instead.

When the night train had arrived in Brussels and Sander watched as Robbe walked through the aisle, his nerves really began to grow restless. He stood from his seat so that Robbe could get the window, for which the younger boy smiled at him so sweetly, and Sander's heart almost burst from his chest. They talked about how their classes went, mostly small talk, and Sander was barely processing any of their conversation because his mind was preoccupied with the worry that he might've left open his sketchbook on a drawing of the familiar face sat next to him, or had a painting pinned up, or anything that would undoubtedly make him seem like some crazy stalker. He didn't want to risk any damage to his and Robbe's friendship—were they friends? He supposed they were. They were about to spend a Friday night hanging out together, after all. Sander had to forcefully restrain himself from smiling like a maniac at the thought.

Now, they were sat in comfortable silence, the train car half as full as it was in the mornings. It was peaceful, almost calming enough to bring someone to sleep, which Robbe looked close to at the moment. _He really doesn't sleep,_ Sander thought as he eyed the boy nearly dozing off against the window. He noticed they were approaching their stop and placed a hand on Robbe's shoulder, to which the boy blinked a few times and met his eyes.

"We're here, don't fall asleep on me just yet," Sander teased.

"Sorry," Robbe replied, embarrassed. "I didn't realize I was tired." He grabbed his bag and Sander did the same.

He didn't know how he would be able to survive the rest of the night without wanting to hold Robbe until he fell asleep in his arms. He pushed the thought to the back of his head. "It's okay, we can just watch a movie or something. Something scary so the jump scares keep you awake," he joked.

Robbe scoffed, following Sander off the train. They walked through the station, bustling with people going home, everyone bundled and rushed.

"Lead the way," Robbe said and held out an arm as they exited through the tall doors, the air outside frigid and unforgiving.

The walk to Sander's was mostly quiet, save for him saying _"it's right down here"_ upon reaching his block. Cars and other people passed, people going home or out for the night, storefronts illuminating their path. Every couple of minutes he would send a subtle glance Robbe's way, almost as if to remind himself that the boy really was there with him, walking down his street by his side.

"And we're here," Sander announced as he turned to the building on their left, a few stories high, tall gridded windows on each floor. They walked through the foyer and toward the lobby, Sander whispering to Robbe as they headed up the stairwell. "All of my neighbors are like, at least forty years old and kind of cranky, so. That's why it's so quiet." Robbe laughed and nodded.

"Got it."

Sander stopped in front of the door to his and Senne's place, pulling out his key. And then a reminder dawned on him.

"You're not allergic to cats, right?"

Robbe shook his head.

"Okay, cool." He huffed out a laugh, his nerves high, and pushed the door open.

The space was still lit, Senne likely having left only an hour before. And it smelled rich of vanilla, Sander nearly rolling his eyes upon realizing his roommate had lit a candle in the kitchen before leaving.

He dropped his bag by the coat rack, Robbe repeating his actions and hanging his black corduroy jacket beside Sander's leather one. They kicked off their shoes and Robbe jumped back, startled by the cat suddenly weaving between his legs, nuzzling her face against the fabric, tail swaying.

"Yeah… That's Dusty," Sander said, smile fond as he watched Robbe slowly walk backward with the cat following his every step.

"Oh," he said, clearly entertained. "We had one when I was younger. She's so friendly," he laughed brightly as she jumped onto a side table to be able to reach him better. Sander drowned in the sound, in the sight.

"She likes you," he observed, noticing how the cat's reaction to Robbe contrasted with that of every other one of his or Senne's guests, who had been greeted by either hissing or hiding. "Cat whisperer." Robbe laughed again at the comment, and Sander's smile grew wider. "Do you want a beer, or something?"

"Yeah, sure. Thank you."

"Come, I'll give you the tour," Sander said in a mocking tone, acknowledging how there really wasn't much to show. Robbe gladly followed behind.

"Okay, so, living room." He gestured toward the area, adding, "If everything's weirdly clean by the way, it's because Senne is compulsively neat; a blessing and a curse, I guess." He walked them to the left.

"I'd rather have one really clean roommate than three messy ones," Robbe said, quietly, but Sander still heard and let out a laugh.

"Okay, true. I'm grateful." He stopped in front of the island. "Um, this is the kitchen." He padded over to the fridge to get their beers, fishing through the drawer for the bottle opener. "You know, where the magic happens, where I make our coffee every morning," he said as he opened their drinks.

Robbe laughed quietly at the reference and looked around the open space, swaying from one foot to the other as his eyes traveled from the countertop to the huge window in the living room, thanking Sander when he handed him a beer.

"You have a really unique floorplan," he noted. "It's so open."

Sander nodded, explaining as they continued into the hallway, entering his room on the right. "Yeah, so this place actually used to be an art gallery on the first and second floors. That was like, over twenty years ago, but I thought it was cool. And this floor was mostly studios, so that's why it's laid out like that." He gestured to the paint splatters and streaks on some of the floorboards in his room. "Most of the paint on the floors isn't mine. Senne wanted to get them refinished but, like, why the fuck would I do that?"

"Wow, very…" Robbe paused, not being able to find the word, Sander raising an eyebrow. "…Rustic," he said, slowly. Sander snorted.

"Yeah, I guess it is. But Senne made all the other rooms so modern, guess he likes that."

"Your windows are so big, don't you value your privacy?" Robbe teased.

"It's just the courtyard out my window, I don't really care."

Robbe hummed, and Sander was mentally thanking god that none of his sketches of the boy were on display, saving him a conversation he really was not ready to have.

"So, uh… Movie?"

"Okay."

"Okay," Sander repeated, and walked back down the hallway to the living room with Robbe following behind. They settled on the couch, Sander not failing to notice how easily Robbe got comfortable, bringing his legs up and checking his phone. He looked so small, and tranquil, and Sander was grateful to be able to see him in this way, different from the boy constantly inundated with assignments and projects at the early hours of the morning. Observing his relaxed demeanor, Sander supposed this really was resemblant of a typical night-in with a friend, and maybe that's exactly what Robbe viewed it as. He decided against doting on the possibility, and instead valuing the few hours he would have with him tonight. Because if he were being honest, he truly meant it those weeks ago when he told Robbe that his company was more than enough—it gave him a sense of security.

He flipped through movie titles, looking over to Robbe for each one and being met with a shake of his head, signaling him to move to the next. He found it adorable, how Robbe seemed unimpressed by most of the films, and paused his browsing to face him, teasing smile on his face.

"You know, just because you're a film aficionado doesn't mean every non-pretentious movie is going to be bad."

Robbe scoffed. "I'm not and I know!" Sander laughed at his offense, putting down the remote and taking a sip from his beer. "I've just seen most of these," Robbe said.

"Oh, _okay._ " Sander nodded, still taunting him.

"It's true! Half of my first-year homework assignments were to watch movies."

"Wow, education."

Robbed rolled his eyes, kicking Sander in the shin and Sander faked a look of hurt, recoiling to his side of the couch. "We should watch something neither one of us has seen before."

"Okay, okay," Sander picked up the remote again and continued scrolling. "Here. It says this one's nominated for like, three of those pretentious awards and has a good rating from both general audience and critics, so that's like me and you."

Robbe sighed at Sander's digs at his preference in movies, and snuggled further into the couch, nodding. "Okay." Sander smiled, pleased, and pressed play, leaning over to turn off the lights. As the title sequence played, Robbe spoke quietly. "You're so annoying."

Now it was Sander's turn to scoff, and he turned to the boy again, whose face read mischief and what Sander would've liked to believe was adoration. "Me, annoying? I can kick you out whenever I want."

And before Robbe could reply, Dusty leaped onto the couch between them and crawled onto Robbe's lap, where she decided to settle lazily.

"Yeah but, Dusty would miss me," he said, and both of them were fully faced toward each other now, movie abandoned.

Sander dropped the teasing, speaking honestly. "True, it's nice seeing her this calm. I guess you're just a calming person."

"Am I?"

Sander nodded.

"You make me feel calm," Robbe said, quieter. The light from the tv was faint, but Sander could make out the sincerity of his features in the dark.

"I do?"

Robbe nodded, "Yeah, like in the morning I usually have a million things on my mind, and I still do, when I see you, but…" he looked around for the words, fingers absentmindedly stroking down Dusty's back, prompting almost inaudible purrs. "It's like everything is toned down when I see you. And I can actually think."

Sander felt his heart swell at the confession. He couldn't have worded it better himself, the same effect Robbe had on him every morning. To hear that he felt the same way was reassuring, to say the least.

"Do you always have a million things on your mind?"

"Lately, yes," Robbe laughed.

"Me too."

They both took a sip from their bottles. Robbe replied, "Like what?"

Sander blew air through his lips, dramatically looking up and pretending to think. "Umm…" Robbe giggled and Sander smiled, maybe that was the most beautiful sound in the world. "Money," he held out his thumb to begin counting on his hand. Robbe nodded in agreement. "This other thing and this other thing." He put out two more fingers, dropping his hand to signal he was done.

"Hey," Robbe said.

"What?"

"So secretive."

"Yeah, well. I imagine one day you'll figure it out," he said, taking another sip.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever you want it to mean," Sander smirked, amused by Robbe's annoyance.

"Okay, speaking in riddles, are we?" Robbe turned back to the movie, dismissing him. Sander tuned in as well, not even bothering to suppress the fluttering in his chest anymore. He welcomed it, basked in it.

Around a half hour later, the two were each on their second beer, Sander furrowing his eyebrows at the plot twist in the movie.

"That makes no sense," he thought aloud.

"It has to happen for them to close the side story about his family, though. The real conflict is the thing with the bank," Robbe said, sleepily. Sander hadn't noticed just how close they had gradually moved to each other since the movie started, all of the occasional moving around and getting up to get more beer leading to them sitting only mere inches apart now.

"Mm…" Sander listened, he liked hearing what Robbe had to say. "Is this a really cliche storyline, then?"

"Yeah," he set down his empty bottle, yawning. "They're setting up a counter-narrative, I guess. That's been trendy recently."

"I like hearing you talk about it," Sander said, leaning on his side against the couch to look at Robbe. "Tell me more." Maybe it was the alcohol, or the fact that he still struggled processing the fact that Robbe was here and not a mere hallucination, but he didn't hide the admiration written across his face as he looked at the boy.

"More about what?" Robbe almost whispered, copying Sander's position.

"Anything. Like, why is this shot being filmed like this?" They looked to the screen in unison, and Robbe squinted, turning back.

"It's… deep space composition. See how you can see all three of them, how they're arranged at different parts of the room?"

Sander nodded. "I see." The alcohol was really beginning to eat away at his inhibitions. "You're so smart."

Robbe laughed. "Those are some of the first things you learn."

"I didn't know them," Sander said in mock offense. "I call you smart and now you're letting it get to your head." Robbe failed to respond, another yawn coming over him. "Do you ever sleep?"

He blinked away the dampness from his eyes. "It's just the alcohol making me more tired."

Sander nodded, then stretched out his arm along the back of the couch as to gesture for Robbe to move closer. "Come."

"What?" Robbe immediately perked up, the gesture taking him by surprise. And Sander knew he was being forward, but the boy just looked so cute when he was tired, and Sander could've really used the body heat.

"Come, if you're tired. You've fallen asleep on me once before, what's a second time?" he joked.

Robbe silently accepted the offer by shuffling closer, now entirely in Sander's space, and leaned into his side, his head resting against Sander's shoulder. Sander had his arm around his waist, holding him closer, and he wondered if Robbe could feel the butterflies in his chest. All of this—cuddled next to Robbe, watching a movie together, even the lasting notes of vanilla from Senne's candle that had long gone out—felt entirely _right._ And when Robbe nosed further into Sander's chest, his hair tickling his chin, he could have relived the moment a hundred times over just to ensure it had actually happened. But he was starting to recognize the reality of it all, and do away with convincing himself that anything had felt too surreal; he just wanted to treasure the warmth, the safeness, the sheer comfort of it all.

"I might actually fall asleep on you," Robbe mumbled into the fabric of Sander's sweatshirt.

"I don't mind," Sander whispered back as the movie continued to play, Robbe's hand placed on the other's chest.

Just before he could doze off, or maybe he had for a moment, Sander noting his stillness and steady breathing—Robbe's phone went off a few times in a row, drawing both of their attention to the coffee table. Robbe groaned and reached out to retrieve the device, promptly replacing himself in the comfort of Sander's embrace.

He stared at the screen, squinting from the brightness and letting out another groan, burrowing further into Sander's chest. "Can I hide here forever?" he asked quietly, voice muffled.

Sander laughed. "What's wrong?"

Robbe shook his head. "Maybe it's because I'm kind of tipsy right now," he played with one of the drawstrings on Sander's sweatshirt. "But I could slam my head into a wall."

"Um, then you can't hide here forever. I like my walls." Robbe huffed, Sander beginning to run his hand up and down his back, soothing.

"It's uh, the guy I was avoiding tonight. Asking me why I'm not there and offering to hang out alone instead."

Sander paused his hand for a moment, taking in the information. He resumed his movements, attempting to mask his jealousy of who the hell this person was. Whoever he was, Robbe was obviously not keen on seeing him, and he clearly made Robbe uncomfortable, so Sander decided he didn't like the guy.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to air all of my issues on you," he said, regretfully.

Sander shook his head, even though Robbe couldn't see. "No, no. That sounds annoying as fuck," he said bluntly. Robbe laughed at the statement, nodding.

"It kind of is."

"So what are you going to say?"

"Um… I don't know. Nothing?"

Sander sighed and rested his chin on top of Robbe's head of curls, breathing in the faint smell of his shampoo that lingered there. "If he's bothering you, you should say something," he held himself back from adding 'baby' at the end, mentally berating his subconscious—the drinks were evidently taking their toll on his better judgment, and he recognized he also had his own audacity to blame at this point.

Robbe didn't respond, just opened his phone again and began typing a message in response. After a few seconds of deleting and retyping, he finally hit send, breathing out, "Done."

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'Can't, I'm with Sander and won't be back until late,'" he said as if it were the most normal thing ever, going back to playing with the drawstring.

Sander pulled back, prompting Robbe to do the same so they could face each other. "Now I'm the scapegoat?"

Robbe smiled smugly, tilting his head. "It's not like I'm lying."

"You really are something, Ijzermans," Sander said, shaking his head.

"I forgot you knew my last name now," Robbe replied, referring to their exchange of contact information from earlier. "But so are you, Driesen."

It sounded so perfect coming from Robbe's voice. He wished no one else could say his name, except for Robbe. It was only fitting.

"You know, the movie's over," Sander said, nodding to the screen where the credits were rolling.

Robbe followed his line of vision. "Oh. Well, it's okay. I've… already seen it," he said, guilt-ridden expression on his face.

"Robbe." Sander gave him a look of disappointment, dropping his shoulders. "What happened to 'we should watch something we haven't seen before'?" he asked.

"I didn't want to make you keep looking for one," Robbe shrugged, reaching down beside the couch when he spotted Dusty roaming around, picking her up. "Maybe I should make my next project focused around cats," he mused.

"Oh, I went through a phase when we first rescued her where I couldn't stop drawing her. Just pages and pages of cats, I'm sure my advisor was tired of it," Sander recalled fondly.

Robbe hummed, ignoring how his phone went off again. "I bet they're all really good, though. You're really the best at what you do. I see your art and I just know you put everything in it, like there's a purpose behind every part of it, or else you wouldn't be doing it… if it didn't mean something to you."

Sander blinked at him, words unable to come out. He was used to people complimenting his art, sure—calling him talented and gifted and whatever other words that seemed to have lost some of their meaning the more they were thrown around, sometimes implying it all came so naturally that there wasn't much depth that went into his pieces, and he admittedly found that to have been draining. But to hear someone, someone whose opinion really mattered to him, say what he just said—he felt acknowledged in a way others seemed to overlook. And it was refreshing, exhilarating, as art was his greatest refuge as of late, and he didn't view it as just some mandatory thing to get out of the way.

"Thank you, that's…" he breathed out, holding Robbe's gaze. "That's exactly why I do it."

"Don't forget about me when you're famous," Robbe teased. "But you're probably all the rage at your university, I'm guessing."

Sander huffed out a laugh. "Everyone at university is too engrossed in rankings and showcases; if they talk about me it's because they think I'm trying to steal their spot at an exhibition or something," he said, used to only having held these conversations with himself in his head. "But I've never submitted, so they really don't have anything to worry about."

Robbe's eyes widened. "Never?"

Sander shook his head. "Not that I haven't considered it." He continued, apprehensive, "Way back when, I did really want to submit to the Antwerp Institute. Mostly because I know they actually care about the pieces they display and the people they represent and it isn't all about names, or whatever," he explained. "And I kind of feel like I'm taking advantage of Senne—well, I know I am, by paying less than half the rent for this place, and he's always telling me it's fine, you know… So the money would also be really helpful, even though commissions are paying a lot right now, a feature at the Institute would be really, really nice."

Robbe looked at him incredulously, as if the solution were obvious. "So why don't you do it?"

Sander hesitated, not entirely sure of the reason himself. Self doubt was definitely in the mix. "I don't know," he scratched the back of his neck. "It just doesn't look like it's going to be a thing anymore," he said and let out a laugh, which he knew Robbe could tell was mostly bitter.

"You should do it," Robbe said, sounding certain. Sander shrugged, and Robbe shook his head, "No, I mean do it. You would definitely get it."

"I don't know."

"But I do."

Sander laughed, amused. "Okay, fortune teller. Thank you for the reading."

"I'm just saying," Robbe huffed out, turning his phone face-down once it went off again. "I've been there and I know your stuff belongs there." His phone seemed to be non-stop with the notifications, making him roll his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said and paused the conversation to read the incoming messages.

"Everything good?"

Robbe sighed, "Party's over, apparently. And my roommates are saying the place is trashed, and want me to help clean it." He sighed dramatically, dropping his face into his hands.

Sander snorted. "Sounds like a blast."

Robbe looked back up, disappointment clear on his face. "I really don't want to."

"I know, you look like you could fall asleep any minute now," Sander noted, just wishing this boy would get a normal amount of sleep for once. And he didn't want Robbe to go home, he hadn't even realized the time had passed. He wanted so deeply to prolong being in Robbe's presence, making the entire flat feel less empty, giving it a new sense of life it had long been in need of. But he knew he couldn't keep him, knew it was getting far too late anyway—or at least that was what he decided to convince himself. "I can walk you home," he added, quieter.

Robbe smiled, nodding in agreement. "Okay."

"Thank you, for everything," Robbe looked up at Sander when they stopped in front of his building.

The walk had been shorter than Sander expected; Robbe only living a mere fifteen-minute trip from him. And he found it curious how the two had never previously crossed paths, in spite of their contrasting destinations on weekdays, since they lived so close. He cursed at the universe for there being no reason to it, now having known he could have met Robbe sooner, maybe somewhere that _didn't_ involve a measly forty-five minute window in the morning when the sun hadn't even risen yet; maybe they could have met in some more convenient, conventional way, and maybe things would have been different. But all of the what-if's seemed to dissipate when he met those brown eyes again, barely aware of the freezing temperature that only grew colder at this hour. He looked at them, and he thought about their first appearance in his life, months ago when he first began his classes for this term, begrudgingly booking the early train because he couldn't manage a change in his schedule. And he thought about the months since, specifically the past few weeks, of meeting Robbe and having him gradually become a recurring factor in his life, a constant. Looking at him now, faint specks of snow landing in his hair and his nose tinted pink from the cold, cat hair most likely dispersed across his shirt, Sander took back all the contemplations of whether he and Robbe could have met in some other way, because he knew he realistically wouldn't change anything about the way he was looking at him right now.

He spoke, not wanting to keep them standing outside as the snow grew heavier. "No, thank you. It was a better Friday night that I could have asked for."

Robbe smiled shyly, tiredness apparent in his voice. "I had a really great time with you, too."

They stared at each other then, not exchanging a word. And maybe there was something, an unspoken understanding there, something not quite discernible in the light gusts of wind that blew around them. But Sander wouldn't know, as Robbe had begun to head toward the entrance to the building, sending a small wave. "Goodnight, Sander."

Sander returned the gesture, warmth engulfing his body despite the snow that had begun piling on his hair and shoulders, replying, "Goodnight Robbe."

He watched the figure smile once more before disappearing past the entrance, door easing shut behind him. He stood there for a moment longer, allowing his heart rate to resume its normal pace, paying no mind to the weather. One or two cars passed behind him, streets mostly quiet at this hour. And at some point he turned around, and made his way back home.

**_\- robbe -_ **

**saturday, 22:36**

Robbe was really, really tired. Despite having taken a nap earlier in the day, he felt like he could collapse at any given moment.

The majority of his day felt like he was alternating between his dreams and real life. The heavy sensation in his chest (his stomach too, and his head, but mostly his chest, his _heart—_ ) was playing a ruthless game, making his stream of thoughts constantly switch between a tranquil meadow of sunlit serenity and bliss, and a total war zone with no plausible remedy, just complete chaos.

He hadn't stopped thinking about his night with Sander from the moment they bid their goodbyes at his doorstep. All day, he felt like he was smoking something, seeing mirages of tousled bleached hair and green eyes that resembled sea glass, boring into his own. He felt the lasting touches against his back, fingers grazing his spine through his shirt, lulling him to sleep. He felt the muted vibrations of Sander's chest when he laughed beneath him, Robbe not even paying attention to the movie he had put on because he was too busy toeing the line of sleep, subconsciously planning the ways he would incorporate Sander's laugh into his dreams.

He knew the alcohol had something to do with it, or many things, but he found himself wishing he had consumed just enough more to maybe push himself to act on his true desires. But of course it had just made him more tired, and he couldn't complain at all. Because being cuddled against Sander, physically feeling their breathing sync, nearly felt like an out-of-body experience for him. He barely remembered the walk back to the flatshare, or helping Jens, Moyo, and Aaron clean up from their party; he felt as though he had drifted off in the security of Sander's embrace, and woken up this morning in his bed alone, as if having transported in his sleep. His mind was put at rest that the previous night had actually happened, though, because Sander had texted him around noon.

 **_Sander:_ ** _cat misses you_

 **_Sander:_ ** _she hasn't left the spot where you were sitting yesterday :(_

 **_Robbe:_ ** _I miss her too, I should have taken her with me_

 **_Sander:_ ** _ha ha_

 **_Sander:_ ** _I miss you too_

Robbe almost choked on his lunch after reading the message, earning concerned glances from his roommates. He apologized and gathered the courage to respond back.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _me too… bowie on the radio this morning and thought of you_

And that had prompted a three-hour long text conversation, flirting being an understatement. He found himself blushing while out running errands, unable to look up from his phone and more than once almost walking into something, or some _one._ The conversation had only ended because Sander had insisted that Robbe take a nap, taking his increase in typos to signify he was low on sleep once again. And Robbe had actually been able to fall asleep so easily without the nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him of the several assignments he could be working on—the ones that weren't due for weeks, since he was already ahead, but still pestered him with their existence. When he woke up, it was to Moyo calling his name from the other room, and he groggily called out in response, to which his roommate informed him that he and Jens were going to a bar tonight, Aaron still nursing a hangover, and insisted Robbe come with them.

And that's how he ended up in a loud, crowded bar at the moment, wishing he were anywhere but. He only had one drink since they arrived, astonished by how his roommates were ordering more despite their antics from the night before, but he didn't bother questioning them.

His head was somewhat hazy, and he assumed he looked like a mess, having thrown on whatever acceptable clothes he could find and giving up on trying to tame the pieces of his hair that refused to lay in the same direction. The past hour was spent mindlessly tearing at cocktail napkins with his fingers, letting the pieces fall onto the surface of the table which his gaze was fixated on as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world, his mind traveling to thoughts of Sander, where Sander might be, what he might be doing.

After an hour of tuning out Jens and Moyo's reminiscence about whatever happened the previous night, Robbe decided he needed water, just so the coldness could wake him up a bit. He walked to the bar, not bothering to ask his friends if they needed a replenishment on drinks as their current state spoke for itself. The bartender slid him his glass, and he thanked him, but before he could return to the table he was stopped by someone saying his name and grabbing his arm, and the suddenness just made him that much dizzier.

He glanced up, and immediately felt his regret of going out tonight increase tenfold. He hadn't responded to any of Tristan's texts from last night after telling him he was with Sander, whom he knew Tristan didn't know, and so he decided to ignore the slew of messages that followed, only glancing at them in the morning and seeing too many instances of "who" and "answer me" to even want to send a response. Now, Tristan was looking at him with an ambiguous expression, hand still on Robbe's arm until Robbe pulled away, forcing him to let go. He looked so full of it, and Robbe didn't suppress the passing wave of judgment that clouded his mind upon giving him a once-over—his pressed shirt, perfectly trimmed dirty-blond hair, and blue eyes that at one point might have seemed alluring, but now only felt like daggers, cold and unrelenting.

He forcefully restrained the urge to roll his eyes, speaking timidly. "Hey."

"Hey, what was up last night?" Tristan gave him a look that felt so belittling, like he was so insulted that Robbe hadn't greeted him with an apology to begin with.

"What do you mean?" He was entirely too drained to be having this conversation.

Tristan leaned closer to him, tone growing cross. "What do I mean? Oh, I don't know. Maybe you mysteriously not being at the party that was held at your own apartment, which I was told was your idea, or maybe it was how you didn't answer any of my messages throughout the night." Robbe felt like he could pass out, struggling to register the words as his vision grew cloudy. "Oh wait, you did send one message. To tell me you were with some random guy, and then go complete radio silence? Really, Robbe, what is the problem lately-"

He abruptly silenced his tirade at the same time that Robbe felt a familiar hold at his waist, looking down to spot Sander's silver ring catch the dim light of the bar, and Robbe instantly melted into the touch. He wondered if he really was dreaming this time.

But he was proven otherwise, the silkiness of Sander's voice greeting his ears. "Hey, are you ready to go?"

Robbe looked up at him, Sander's expression kind and unwavering, wholly grounding him, almost like a drug. He held his gaze, and it felt as though he were asking Robbe if he was okay just through his eyes, like he knew he wasn't. And Robbe barely had the energy to process the whole scenario that was playing out, so he succumbed to the refuge of Sander's touch, and placed his glass back on the bar, nodding. "Yeah, yes."

Sander smiled and lightly squeezed where his hand was placed above Robbe's hip, sending warmth throughout his entire body. He looked up at Tristan, and Robbe knew Sander had put two and two together after hearing about the unnamed person he was avoiding lately and seeing his likely panicked exterior just now as Tristan essentially scolded him in public. He nodded his head in greeting. "Sander," he said, and Robbe knew he was holding back from saying more, could sense it in the tenseness of his body against his.

"Tristan," he replied, clearly recognizing the name from Robbe's text.

"We'll see you," Sander said dismissively, and Robbe let out a barely audible _bye_ before he was redirected toward the entrance of the bar, his vision getting clearer with every second that he felt Sander's touch at his side.

"Hey hey hey, it's okay, I'm here," Sander said in a hushed voice, holding Robbe's face in his hands, so gently he almost couldn't sense his touch. And it was so cold all of a sudden, so cold and his back was leaning against something. It took several attempts at refocusing his vision to realize Sander had brought him outside and sat him on a bench at the side of the building, away from passersby, knelt in front of him and trying to get Robbe's eyes to meet his own. He used one hand to caress his hair, threading through the strands, other still holding the side of his face. And it felt so good, Robbe felt his eyes nearly flutter closed. But then Sander was speaking again, gauging his alertness. "No, Robbe, stay with me. You're okay."

Robbe finally sharpened his vision on Sander's face, meeting his eyes. They looked so worried, so unhappy and Robbe just wanted to placate them. His arms felt so heavy, but he managed to weakly reach out and trace the side of his face. Sander let out a relieved breath at the contact, visibly relaxing. "It's me."

"What are you…" Robbe struggled to finish the sentence, still not totally aware of everything that was happening.

"I think you had a panic attack, maybe from fatigue," Sander said, dropping his hands to hold Robbe's now.

Robbe blinked at him. "Oh." He faintly remembered the moment Sander appeared that night, mostly recalling Tristan yelling at him and his entire body growing unstable. "How did you…?"

Sander rubbed this thumbs over the back of Robbe's hands, not daring to break eye contact. "Right place at the right time, I suppose."

"Hm…" Robbe began to recollect images of going out with Jens and Moyo, and seeing Tristan. He remembered Sander asking if he was ready to leave, surveying the situation, and he suddenly felt a wave of immense gratitude come over him, his abrupt realization assisting him in regaining total focus. "Thank you," he breathed out.

Sander still looked so worried. "Are you okay?"

Robbe nodded. "I think so, yeah. I'm sorry, that's happened before, I," he tripped on his words, steadying his breathing. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

Sander shook his head, speaking in the most reassuring voice, making sure Robbe understood him, "Please don't be sorry, I just want to know that you're okay."

And Robbe didn't know what strange force had brought him and Sander to the same bar that night, after texting all throughout the day, and to have Sander spot him amongst the people, and realize he was in need of help—he didn't know how it had all happened, but he was so grateful, and he squeezed Sander's hands to let him know. "I am, now. Really."

Sander let out a shaky breath. "Okay. But I'm taking you home and you need to sleep."

Robbe nodded, not having any viable reason to argue. Sander pulled him to his feet, gradually letting loose his grip on Robbe's hands to ensure he was totally steady. They began the walk to the flatshare, Sander staying close beside him the entire time. When they finally reached the building, slowing to a stop, it only took one more glance at Sander's face for Robbe to feel like he was absolutely drowning—not in the same way he felt like he was fighting to break the surface, to reach air a few minutes ago at the bar—now, he felt like he had already fallen past the point of escape, perhaps willingly, accepting the waves that engulfed him and pulled him down, down, down. He could somehow still see light, despite how deep he was sinking, and it was so bright. It flickered around him in streaks of gold and white, and he felt like he could finally _breathe_ , clearer than ever before.

He slowly stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and hugged Sander. He welcomed the arms that wrapped around him in return, closing his eyes momentarily to bask in the feeling.

"Thank you," he mumbled into Sander's shoulder, not wanting to let go.

"Please sleep," was Sander's only reply, holding him tighter, and Robbe could sense the concern in his voice.

He hesitantly pulled back, already aching to be in his full embrace once more. "I will."

"And let your roommates know you're home," Sander advised, his voice soft, gently reaching out to Robbe's forehead to brush aside his fringe.

"I will," Robbe repeated, almost breathless. He didn't know what hour it was, or whether his friends were even aware he had left the bar, and he wasn't entirely sure whether Sander was really stood in front of him or if he were some materialized angel, a figment of his imagination.

Sander nodded, and Robbe so badly wanted to invite him in for the night, but he knew he was so close to passing out already, and the urge to sleep ruled his better judgment.

"Goodnight, Robbe." His voice might as well had been completely swallowed by the wind, because Robbe already felt as though he missed the boy, despite them not having parted ways just yet. He could already feel the emptiness brewing in his gut, and he knew it would devour him whole the second he could no longer seek out those green eyes. But still he replied 'Goodnight, Sander,' and turned to enter his building, and he didn't dare look back, because he knew he would inevitably sink deeper, if that were somehow possible.

He barely remembered the moments before falling asleep, only collapsing onto his bed and yielding to the comfort of his sheets, eyes only remaining open for a second longer. The silver hue of the moonlight through his window blurred, and then was gone, complete darkness greeting him.

And he felt it so deep within him—the light, fighting to seep through the cracks, pulling at every nerve and coursing past his bones and daring him to give in. So he did, he surrendered without a moment's hesitation, and he fell—and he burned.

**sunday, 12:30**

Sunday mornings usually went slow at the flatshare, all of the boys waking up at different times, managing some makeshift excuse they would call breakfast, and carrying on with whatever they needed to get done before the week really started.

But today, Robbe woke up feeling lighter than air, reading the clock to see he had gotten a regular night's amount of sleep, and almost wanting to take all of his papers for school and throw them out the window, as if to say a victorious _fuck you,_ but he decided to remain cordial and leave them be.

He basically waltzed into the kitchen, long strides likely making him look high on something—and Jens even asked him, inquired as to when Robbe was the type to wake and bake, and Robbe let out a hysterical laugh that almost frightened the boy, assuring him he wasn't.

Robbe knew exactly what he wanted to do today, and he let his fingers act on their own accord, pulling out his phone and typing out a message to the only person that occupied his mind.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _what are you doing right now?_

Seconds later, he received a reply and almost jumped in excitement, earning another startled look from Jens, to which he apologized quietly.

 **_Sander:_ ** _believe it or not, I'm at our favorite place_

Robbe automatically sensed the sarcasm, and knew exactly what he was referencing.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _the train? why_

 **_Sander:_ ** _had to run to the studio for something_

 **_Sander:_ ** _15 from antwerp now_

There was no other reason he would be clarifying how far he was other than to let Robbe know exactly when he would be available, when he could see him again—or that was what Robbe decided to believe.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _that's funny because I'm 15 from the station right now_

 **_Sander:_ ** _what a coincidence_

 **_Sander:_ ** _14…_

Robbe smiled to himself, reading the messages, and darted toward the doorway to hastily put on his jacket and shoes and call out to Jens that he would be back later.

It was almost comical how giddy Robbe was, making his way to Antwerp Central. He could have laughed aloud at the obscurity of it all, how most other mornings he was trudging through the leftover snow that had yet to be shoveled from the sidewalks, legs feeling like lead, still not having fully woken up.

Right now, he felt weightless, holding the door open to the station so that others could pass through, thanking him for the gesture. He entered the vast sunlit space and really felt like nothing and no one could take this feeling from him, because it was entirely _his_ and rooted so deep in his chest now, threatening to burst at the seams—and it practically did, once he heard a familiar voice say his name to his left, nearly skidding to a stop when he registered the sound.

"Woah, take it easy there," Sander laughed, placing his hands on the boy's shoulders to steady him. Robbe couldn't hide his smile, sure that he probably looked crazy, still not having said anything. He was out of breath, barely sighing out the syllable.

"Hi." His hands rose to Sander's chest, and he could feel the boy's heart beating just as fast as his own.

"Hi," Sander repeated, his hold on Robbe's shoulders falling to his waist, bringing him closer, closer—

Robbe knew in that moment that he didn't want to hold back, that he came here with a clear intention in mind, and his body felt like it was battling static, an electric current streaming through his veins. He breathed out a laugh, resting his forehead against Sander's, and letting his eyes flutter closed.

Sander laughed in response, voice barely above a whisper. "What?"

Robbe lifted his head and said quietly, _'nothing,'_ still clutching at the boy's chest. He stared in wonderment at the sea glass-colored irises in front of him, almost taken up by black. He could feel Sander's breaths hit his face, and he tried to control his own pants despite the rate at which his heart was pounding in his chest.

It didn't feel real, Sander leaning in to close the space between their lips, and then they finally met. It was soft and alleviating and intoxicating and eager all at once. Robbe felt the light inside him stop flickering and suddenly radiate so brightly, entirely blinding, and he could only see in shades of roses—and gold, and his favorite iridescent green. He couldn't contain the laughter that bubbled out of his mouth, turning the kiss messy as Robbe wouldn't stop smiling.

Sander echoed his laughter, speaking against his lips, "Why are you laughing?"

Robbe felt delirious, not even knowing the answer to the question himself. He just felt so happy. He pulled away only enough so that Sander's eyes could meet his, desperate to kiss him again. "You could have done that a long time ago," he said, and closed the space between them once more, this time Sander breaking the flow with laughter.

And Robbe could have died in that moment, at the fucking train station on a Sunday afternoon, and he would have been content. He wanted to capture it somehow, wished he could store it away to keep forever. He couldn't calm his fumbling heart and decided he was in no rush to do so, the soothing touch on his back already easing him, and he lowered his head to rest just below Sander's chin, pressing his ear to the boy's heart and wrapping his arms around his middle. It felt like home, like a thousand barely discernible stars in the sky suddenly radiating at once in complete alignment, and it felt so safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	3. looking for you but you're right here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> —chapter title is from "coney island" by taylor swift and the national

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading and leaving comments and kudos on the last chapter they mean everything!!! i love reading comments so much omg . i hope u enjoy this chapter (also i wanted to note that i ended up splitting what was originally one chapter so that's why it's 5 instead of 4 now lol)

**_\- sander -_ **

**sunday, 13:15**

There weren't many moments in the past four or so years Sander could recall as memorable—there were many, on the other hand, that he would have liked to forget. But the better ones were sparse. Maybe the day he found out he would be going to university, or when he had nowhere to turn for a living arrangement and Senne thankfully offered him a place to stay; maybe the day they brought Dusty home, or his first feature in a showcase. Small instances of joy and distraction from what felt like an endless descent into uncertainty—blank pages taunting him with the possibilities of loss and repetition, the same day over and over and the same anxieties never letting up—those small moments of reassurance were few.

There was a cutoff, though, in the cycle; not entirely ceasing the repetition, but slowing it down, _breaking_ it down. Until it almost felt like he still had lasting prospects for his own future and any inhibitions ceased to exist. Perhaps it was a few weeks ago, or a few days. But looking ahead of him right now, sunlight hitting his face, Robbe in his arms; he supposed it could have been this moment.

Kissing Robbe— _kissing Robbe_ —though he had only done it once, had easily jumped to the top of the list of Sander's favorite things to do.

He really didn't intend to do it, not at first; but the second he caught sight of the boy, who was evidently in a hurry to find him, and he saw those eyes and that _smile_ —it was a no-brainer. _Kiss him._ His heart was beating out of his chest—expectedly; he didn't exactly put "live out the dream that plays in your head every time you make eye contact with the person you've been pining for" on his to-do list for the day—and Robbe's face revealed more than words could have ever said. So he dropped the doubts, the what-if's and burdens.

There were a few flashes of nostalgia in the feeling, the brief moment before their lips touched; the heedless acting-on-impulse memory of high school and believing you fell in love for the first time, heart racing and practicing conversations in front of the mirror, trying on different shirts until you found the one you think they'd like; not exactly understanding back then just how transient that kind of memory would be. He felt the reminiscence of running home from art classes when he was younger, just about skipping down sidewalks with the excitement of showing his parents what he created that day. Freshly trimmed brown hair and the same splotches of paint on his hands and not worrying about the next thing—his dad showing him Bowie records when he was fourteen, playing them in the house and Sander reading all of the lyrics on the sleeves. And he felt another similar sentiment, shining beside the others, of waiting on a train platform in September and catching sight of a late-summer Robbe on the first week of classes. That first time, like a key turning a lock. A lock… A part of his world, his small world in Antwerp that was defined by rainy days and running errands for the flat, scoring medial jobs one after another to attempt to make ends meet. Calling his parents once a week. Going to the same bars with the same friends on the weekends and spending his paycheck on cheap alcohol, going back home and passing out with Dusty curled beside him. A key that turned the lock to a new piece of that world; weekday mornings. Laughter, comfort. Warmth. Robbe.

And kissing him was like reliving a million moments in a single breath, a million smiles and a million reassurances. He fell docile to the feeling. Now, he could feel Robbe's hair tickling his neck and Robbe's arms secure around his middle. Sander could have said, or asked, so many things; but he knew that their stance right at this moment was an outright answer in itself to many. He allowed himself to breathe, to trail his hand up Robbe's back and thread his fingers through his messy hair, tousled from the wind.

"You really ran here, hm?" He asked, voice just loud enough for Robbe to hear, train arrival times and cancellations being aired over the speakers.

He nodded against Sander's chest, not loosening his hug around him, and Sander felt perfectly secure in his embrace. Robbe lifted his head and looked at him, and he could have sworn no artwork, no photograph, nothing could justly capture the beauty before him. Robbe's eyes were full of life, small smile on his lips, his skin just somewhat flushed from the cold. And Sander was already reminding himself in his head, _You kissed him,_ as if ensuring that he wouldn't doubt his own understanding of reality right at that moment, _You kissed him and he is so beautiful._

He tucked a strand of Robbe's hair behind his ear, and the boy surprised him by letting his hands travel to Sander's neck and closing the space to kiss him once more. His mouth was soft, and his kisses sweet. Sander knew he wouldn't be able to get enough—ever.

When they parted, Sander spoke quietly. "Come over?"

"Okay," Robbe said and nodded, smiling. Sander was sure he mirrored the expression.

"Okay," he repeated. They stared at each other for a few seconds longer until Sander breathed out a laugh and shook his head in disbelief at everything, tugging on Robbe's arm as he turned toward the exit. "Come."

"So, an hour to Ghent and back just to pick something up?" Robbe asked as they turned onto Sander's street.

"Not just _anything_ ," Sander replied. "Something important."

"What?"

He held a finger to his lips, whispering, "It's a secret."

Robbe raised his eyebrows, eyeing Sander's bag. He reached out toward the zipper and Sander jokingly stepped away from Robbe, tightening his hold on the strap. "Hey, don't even try."

"I'll find out eventually." Robbe said matter-of-factly, acting unbothered.

"Yeah, you probably will."

The truth was that Sander had rushed to the studio to pick up only a few papers he left behind there, not having expected to need them any time soon. They were applications, and lists of contacts of curators nearby provided by his professors. Specifically, the papers he had previously abandoned in a drawer when he discarded the chance of submitting his pieces to the Antwerp Institute. Why he felt like he _needed_ to pick them up today was mostly a matter of not being able to wait; not after what Robbe had said to him on Friday.

_I see your art and I just know you put everything in it, like there's a purpose behind every part of it, or else you wouldn't be doing it… if it didn't mean something to you._

It was bordering ironic that a single statement from someone had recovered the enthusiasm that got lost somewhere along the way, sometime in the past months. But hearing Robbe's words—he couldn't _not_ restart the process, not after that. In fact, he had planned to jump right into it after coming back from the train station, but of course he didn't know his day would be going the way it was now instead. And he supposed, okay, fine—it was alright to postpone it for a bit to spend time with Robbe who had just kissed him and made his heart flip one hundred times over. He could manage.

They made it to the entrance of the building and Sander almost tripped on the stairs going up to his apartment, making Robbe laugh aloud since neither of them had noticed they were practically running to make it there.

"Oh, you're going to meet Senne." Sander said, more to himself than to Robbe as he hadn't thought about how his roommate was still at the apartment, and he definitely hadn't mentally prepared for whatever possible reaction he was going to have to meeting Robbe.

"Oh, okay." Robbe said casually and Sander unlocked the door, thinking the boy really had no idea how much Senne already knew about him—and the fact that he was getting no warning that Robbe would be coming over, Sander braced himself for the outcome.

He pushed the door open, letting Robbe enter first. Sander caught himself smiling at him while he wasn't looking, just entirely entranced by his being there once again, and the desperation to kiss him again. When Robbe looked at him, he grabbed his hand and nodded toward the hallway to his room.

"Come." Robbe contentedly followed along, both grinning like kids. Sander stopped at Senne's door and called out, "Hey, I'm back."

Senne responded as he pulled the door open. "Hey. I'm going out for a second—" He cut himself short after spotting Robbe next to Sander. Senne froze in the doorway, jacket and keys in hand. He said without hesitation, "Holy shit."

Sander's eyes widened and he gave him a look, as if to say _Don't._ He relaxed his features, acting composed. "Senne, this is—"

"Robbe, I know."

Robbe raised an eyebrow curiously, amused by the quick response. Senne shook his head, apologizing. "Sorry, I just recognize you from Sander's…" Sander shot him another look, this time more like glaring. "From Sander's… He's just mentioned you before," he improvised. "It's really nice to meet you."

"You too," Robbe replied, clearly taken aback by the reaction but still smiling politely.

"Yeah, so…" Sander began walking backward to his room, pulling Robbe along with him. "We're just gonna be…" he gestured to the door.

"Oh, definitely," Senne replied quickly, nodding. "Won't bother you, I'll be back later." The look on his face definitely signaled ' _I'm asking you a million questions about this later, don't think I won't.'_ "Bye, Sander. Bye, Robbe!" He called out as he reached the front door.

"Bye!" Robbe replied just before Sander could pull him into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them and immediately pressing Robbe against it. Their lips found each other in an instant, rushed and relieved. Sander breathed into Robbe's mouth, "Please, ignore him."

"Why? He seemed very nice." They struggled to keep up with one another, kisses quick and mutually long-awaited.

"I'll just say I preferred the way Dusty first welcomed you; a lot more elegant than 'holy shit.'"

"True," Robbe said, laughs faltering when Sander's hands fumbled to find his waist and pulled him in closer, Robbe holding the sides of Sander's face to ensure they wouldn't part any time soon.

Sander continued to speak between breathless kisses. "I really hated leaving you last night." He slowed down momentarily, pulling away to meet Robbe's eyes. "Did you… You got enough sleep? You're okay?"

Robbe didn't speak, just nodded, wide eyes blinking up at Sander's. He looked almost shaken, or confused, or something—Sander didn't know, so he just kept talking.

"I don't know if you really remember all of it, but yeah. I was… really worried all last night, didn't want the next time I'd see you to be Monday."

Robbe formed a small, barely noticeable smile then, still looking at Sander as if fascinated by his jumbled explanation, and Sander noticed the boy's chest rising and falling a bit faster.

He gently placed his hand there, quietly laughing. "Your heart is beating so fast."

Robbe felt Sander's chest, too, replying, "So is yours." He attempted to catch his breath, eyes darting between Sander's. "I didn't want to wait to see you either," he responded to his confession from earlier. "It was really weird seeing you in public somewhere other than the train station, though," Robbe said humorously and Sander laughed.

"Yeah, I was surprised but then remembered how close you live," he said, and resumed kissing him. "Can't believe I never ran into you before."

"Yeah, I know." Robbe said against his lips and threaded his fingers through the disheveled tufts of hair behind his ears, and Sander felt a shiver go up his spine at the feeling.

"I wish I spotted you earlier, though."

"Same, I really didn't expect Tristan to be there."

And Sander desperately held back from showing the distaste he felt at the mention. "Ugh, please don't say his name at a time like this."

Robbe stifled a laugh, tilting his head to meet Sander's lips at a different angle, back resting against the door and allowing Sander to crowd his space entirely. "I can't believe you were there."

"I'm happy I was."

"Divine intervention."

Sander pulled back once more, panting and immersed in the sight of Robbe's clearly-recently-made-out-with face, cheeks flushed and lips puffy, all from Sander. "Yeah, really was, wasn't it?" He steadied his heartbeat the best he could, hand coming up to brush Robbe's fringe to the side. "Why did it take us so long?" He barely whispered, voice slightly scratchy both from having run back and made out with Robbe while attempting a full conversation in the spaces.

"I don't know," Robbe said, slowly standing back up straight. "Well, I know. Or I don't." He laughed and squinted at his own unsureness, tilting his head in contemplation. "I'm just slow at picking up on things. These things," he exhaled.

"I bring you coffee every day and invited you over on a Friday night, just us," Sander let out on a laugh, mostly at his own inability to hide how much he wanted Robbe like this. "And texted you that I missed you the next morning."

Robbe smiled, that million-dollar smile, leaning in to continue pressing kisses against Sander's lips, saying, "I figured it out by then, by Friday."

"Phew," Sander said jokingly, returning every kiss. "I was running out of hints without giving it away."

Robbe chuckled against his mouth, pulling him down by the back of his neck and deepening their kisses, unfazed by the obscenity of how desperate they both were, how messy it was getting.

Sander let his lips travel to the corner of Robbe's mouth, to his jaw, and all along it. Robbe let out small gasps, fingers threading through Sander's bleached strands and dazed eyes looking over his shoulder. He glanced around the room, from Sander's bed to his desk in front of the window to the closet and dresser and wall decor; everything.

"You… I didn't get to really see your room like this, last time," Robbe managed to get out, brain a bit foggy with Sander's mouth on his neck.

Sander mumbled into the skin there, "Really exciting, isn't it?"

Robbe laughed breathlessly, eyeing the few arranged rock posters on the wall beside Sander's marked-up calendar. The hardwood floor in-fact littered in mostly white and grey paint streaks as Sander had pointed out last time; his desk scattered with drawing utensils and sheets of paper, all varying sizes; he had two bedside tables and one was occupied by a record player, his collection of vinyls filed underneath.

"Play me something on vinyl," Robbe said, and Sander lifted his head. Robbe gave an innocent smile, hand coming up to his own neck to touch where the sensation of Sander's lips still lingered.

"Right, yeah. Okay," Sander said, walking toward the record player but keeping his eyes on Robbe for just a second longer before peeling them away. He bent down to sort through the variety of records, asking, "Any requests?"

Robbe headed toward where Sander was, shrugging. "The Beatles."

Sander looked over his shoulder, bemused at the suggestion. "Robbe, who do you think I am?"

"Stuck in the 60's and 70's."

Sander scoffed, but pulled out a "20 Greatest Hits" record anyway and smirked. He dexterously slid it out of the cover and placed it on the player, moving the needle to drop just at the edge. After a few seconds, the opening of "In My Life" began to play, warmly filling the room with the familiar notes.

Sander sighed, satisfied. Before he could turn to face Robbe, he was being pulled down onto his bed by the boy. Robbe rolled over so he was hovering just above him, immediately rejoining their lips and smiling into it, kissing him with all the same fervor from where they left off at the door. And fuck if Sander wasn't in absolute dreamland right then. But he knew this was exactly where he was meant to be, who he was meant to be with, and he decided the Beatles were exactly the correct soundtrack for the moment.

_But of all these friends and lovers, there is no one, compares with you._

Robbe leaned to the side, allowing Sander to flip them over so he was on top, taking control. He got into a rhythm of kissing him, nosing into Robbe's skin with every movement, feeling the boy's socked feet sliding against the sheets beneath them.

Robbe hummed into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair again. Sander noticed the sharpness in the taste on Robbe's tongue, and he used his own to lick it up, to savor every part of this.

"You taste so minty," he said in a single breath, continuing to seek out the sensation. Robbe softly panted against his lips, lightly pulling on the hair between his fingers, making Sander open his mouth by reflex.

"I took," he snuck in his words, "—a mint. On my way to the station, just in case. In case I'd kiss you." He took Sander's face in both of his hands and slipped his tongue into his mouth, beckoning Sander to come impossibly closer.

He let out a noise at Robbe's honesty, somewhere between a sigh and borderline moan. It only made both of them that much more involved in their heavy exchange, the sounds of their lips connecting over and over again merging with the music.

"You should come over tomorrow," Robbe said, feet still struggling to find their grounding.

"Yeah? I won't be taking your time away from something important?" How Sander succeeded to pretend like anything would stop him from going over Robbe's in a heartbeat, he wasn't sure.

"No. Random things. Emails, laundry," he explained, still drawing Sander's face as close as possible as their lips slotted together. "Help me with it?"

"Can we do this while you do it?" Sander asked, lost in everything.

"Please, yes," Robbe replied. His teeth gently pulled on Sander's bottom lip, making the boy instinctively place one hand on Robbe's waist and hold him there. "Yes, yes, yes."

Sander slowed down the pace a bit, pleading for himself to purely enjoy the moment; to not allow it to become some pleasant blur in the future, but rather a detailed memory of everything he felt, saw, _tasted_ at the very instant.

"Shit," he laughed out, breathing through his nose as he rolled off of Robbe and onto his back to try and recuperate.

Robbe did the same, hands resting on his stomach as it rose and fell. He nearly wheezed, "We're good at that."

Sander nodded in agreement. "Yes. We are," he exhaled long and heavy, turning his head to look at Robbe who did the same. Sander reached out and gently grazed the back of his fingers against Robbe's cheek, the skin rosy and warm to the touch. Robbe leaned up on his arm so he was looking down at Sander, using his fingers to comb through his hair again.

"What color is your hair really?"

Sander smiled, still a bit dazed by recent events. "Like yours. A bit darker."

"Hm," Robbe continued threading through it, and it felt so completely blissful to Sander that he urged himself not to let out a moan at the way Robbe's fingers continued to massage his scalp. He just stared up at him, overwhelmed by the sight of deep brown eyes boring into his own green. The record had already gone through a handful of tracks, a new one starting as Sander closed his eyes for a moment.

"Oh, this is a good one."

"Huh?" Robbe was totally oblivious to the music now, clearly caught up in the lasting touches and kisses that occupied Sander's mind just the same.

"Penny Lane," he said, finger now tracing Robbe's collarbone that peeked out of his shirt, deciding he wished he could live in the delicate dip right above it.

They stayed like that for a while, just staring at each other and allowing their breaths to sync. It was that rare time of day where the sun was out just enough to fool one into believing it might stay longer than an hour, before getting lost behind the clouds, gray overtaking the sky once more. But right now it came through the window and streamed just over Robbe's shoulder, illuminating the skin on his upper arm with a strip of gold. Sander wandered his fingers over so he could trace the line of sunlight, at the same time Robbe just letting him do it; letting his curious hands become acquainted with the area for the first time.

He spoke as his touch refocused all the way down the younger boy's side, sneaking just under the hem of his shirt and running along the exposed skin; gentle, forbearing. "Do your roommates know what happened? At the bar?"

"No," the boy replied, reaching up and fixing the upturned end of Sander's eyebrow. "I crashed the minute I got inside, and then went to meet you soon after waking up," he accounted, smiling to himself at the fact. "But I will, of course; I sent a message before falling asleep that I left the bar early—I'm sure they'll ask why." Sander hummed in response, nails now delicately scraping against Robbe's hipbone, up to his waist, and back down. "And I'll have to let them know about you if you're coming over tomorrow, you know, unless you want to be met with a thousand questions," he laughed lightly.

Sander echoed it, saying, "I'm sure I can piece together some answers." A thought slipped into his mind, his own questions beginning to accumulate there, about Robbe. "What about your parents? They're in Antwerp, or?" His voice remained at a quiet level, soft and non-demanding. But he didn't miss the way Robbe stilled a bit at the mention, his hand taking a moment to resume brushing through Sander's hair.

"They're uh," he cleared his throat, shaking his head, "not in the area. My…" His gaze got lost for a second, thoughts clearly stopping short before being spoken. Sander let him gather the words, still tracing shapes into his skin. "My mom moved to France, permanently, over ten years ago. She and my dad weren't really—fond of the idea of even remaining in the same country together, so." He huffed out a laugh at the story, continuing on. "My dad's sort of nearby, not that I see him more than once every few weeks. I moved out a while ago and our biggest ties are financial. I don't know; I got used to not seeing either of them that often even when we all lived together, since they both used work as an excuse to never be around each other. So yeah," he breathed out. "I don't feel any, like, resentment toward my mom or anything. She calls a lot; she visits. I visit." The pulls on Sander's hair grew slower. "My dad just sends me a check every month and pretends he's not the reason she felt the need to leave." He lowered himself back down beside Sander, looking up at him as if to signal he was done; there wasn't more to the story.

Sander mirrored his position, speaking quietly. "That's a lot, moving out when you're young."

Robbe's expression remained ambiguous, just holding Sander's gaze as if needing it in order to stay grounded. "Yeah, but it worked out in the end. And I have better roommates now than my first place, so things got a lot better," he said. "And your parents? They live in Antwerp?"

Sander nodded, explaining his own familial situation. "Yeah, they're not far from here. We kind of decided it was best for me to stay here during uni, because of…" He trailed off, accustomed to leaving out this part of the story. "Just, some things that happened when I was in high school." He half-lied; it was true he experienced a series of unexpected nervous breaks and depressive episodes only a few years prior, ultimately leading to several emergency trips to the hospital and contrasting diagnoses. It was also true that the bulk of it happened in high school, but the whole truth was that it was still apart of Sander's daily life, refusing to be ignored. A different story for a different time. "Even though I don't have a necessarily—" he tried not to cringe to himself mid-sentence, recalling the screaming match that was his last time visiting home. "—C _lose,_ relationship with my parents," he continued, "It was a mutual decision to stay in the same city. But they know Senne really well; our families have been close since forever. He's like a brother, really. And he just graduated, so a lot's happening right now." Sander spoke fondly of his roommate and longtime friend, proud of him for having achieved so much in the past year but not overlooking the fear of potentially being left behind. "He's always insisting he's not moving out any time soon, but I think he really wants to live with Zoë, his girlfriend, so… Still coming to terms with that possibility." He let out the breath he had been holding in while detailing his situation, clinging to every reminder that everything was okay at the moment, not wanting to get consumed by the list of anxiety-inducing aspects of his life, the uncertainties.

At least he knew, right now, that Robbe was here. That Robbe didn't flinch at the vagueness of _"some things that happened when I was in high school,"_ didn't press on. He just continued to rake his fingers through Sander's bleached strands—now long unknotted, Robbe just carrying on anyway, soothing him with the gesture.

And he couldn't help but notice how different, how blatantly contrasting this was from his past moments of openness with other people. Just the understood silence between the two; the lack of judgment; the shared respect shown through their patience and acceptance of one another. And he knew it felt more than right, to be there beside Robbe, talking about his personal life without wanting to sink into the floor and disappear.

Robbe spoke up again, inquiring, "And Dusty?"

Sander laughed at that, recounting one of his favorite memories. "She was a stray; used to come by our building every day. I tried subtly leaving her snacks to get her to keep showing up before Senne warned me she would never go away then, and I said that that _was the point,_ " he recalled and Robbe giggled softly at the story. "Then it was starting to get a lot colder last winter, and I somehow convinced him to let me bring her home—you know, after she got a bunch of tests and shots because," he raised his hands in air quotes to iterate Senne's request, " _'You never know what she could be bringing into this apartment, Sander.'_ But so far she's only brought in dust and muddy paw prints, so that's all good. And a mouse, once or twice," he said, laughing. "Senne was _not_ happy about that."

Robbe joined him in laughter, hiding the side of his face into the pillow. "Sounds like a good flatshare dynamic."

Sander nodded, he guessed it really was; he wouldn't trade it in, wouldn't take it for granted. "Yours isn't quite the same, then?" he teasingly raised an eyebrow and Robbe shook his head.

"No, no. We don't need a cat to bring mud into the apartment because we have Aaron to do that," he began, and Sander laughed at the remark, nodding along. "Jens likes to call the place his bachelor pad," Robbe rolled his eyes, "Hence a lot of parties on literally any day of the week, if he's not already going to another. Moyo is only renting with us for a little while, the three of them go to uni together. Jens and I have been friends since high school and he knew how shit my old roommates were. So it just kind of worked out for us this way." He smiled softly, and Sander thought he looked like an angel, so unknowingly beautiful with a voice that left him wanting to hear about anything and everything, in Robbe's words only.

"I'm happy it worked out," Sander said, fingers lining up with Robbe's to trace along each other, teasingly intertwining for a second before detaching again. He let the next comment slip out unintentionally, just a thought that came to him while examining all of Robbe's face. "Your eyelashes are so long."

Robbe's lips twitched into a smile at the comment, responding with, "Your eyebrows are so dark."

Sander sighed, taking in the peaceful intimacy. "I love kissing you." He didn't bother to hide the fact; it was true that he felt like he was actually dreaming the entire time they were lost in each other's every breath, and his lips still tingled with the memory.

Robbe grinned lazily. "Me too."

Sander leaned in then, reconnecting their lips, and this time it was slower. Softer, lasting. He let his mouth ease with Robbe's, eventually unwillingly pulling away just to look at him once more. His eyes were a deep brown, hints of honey and muted gold along his irises. He had the faintest freckles, one could only notice if they were this close. He wondered if they became more prominent in the summer. He wanted to know Robbe in the summer. He wanted to know Robbe in the spring, early fall. He loved Robbe in the winter. His thoughts were interrupted by the boy suddenly shivering, curling in on himself a bit.

"You're cold?" Sander asked softly, brushing aside Robbe's hair.

"No," he lied.

Sander said, "Wait," and rolled over to lift himself off the bed, padding to his dresser.

Robbe stayed watching him from the bed, no plan of getting up any time soon. Sander pulled open a drawer, sorting through a few sweaters and pullovers, looking for one that would provide Robbe enough warmth without swallowing him whole—he really was quite small, or at least it became more apparent just _how small_ he was when Sander had his arms around him earlier. He eventually pulled out a plain white one, already fighting a smile at the thought of Robbe wearing it.

He fell back on the bed beside him, handing over the hoodie and snuggling into the pillow. "Here."

Robbe eyed him for a moment, saying a quick thanks and sitting up to pull it over his head, not bothering to pull the hood down. He lay back down next to Sander, his fringe side-swept across his forehead and hands hidden by the sleeves.

Sander felt his heart melt at the sight. His expression grew embarrassingly smitten, and he turned to hide his face in the pillow, voice muffled. "Ugh, I love that."

Robbe laughed beside him, confused. "What?"

Sander peeked out at him, gently tugging on the edge of the hood so it enveloped him even more. "You're wearing my hoodie." He mock-pouted, tilting his head as he pretended to survey Robbe's appearance. "You look better in it."

"You look better in everything."

Sander scoffed. "Right, right."

They shared a quiet laugh, fading into comfortable silence as they continued to smile at each other. Robbe reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone, reading the time and glancing at the missed notifications before looking up at Sander with a small frown.

"I have to go soon," he said regretfully, his body only communicating the opposite as he shuffled that much closer to Sander until their noses nearly brushed.

Sander tried to hide his disappointment, murmuring, "How soon?"

"Very soon." Robbe bit his lip, eyes glimpsing down at Sander's for half a second, but Sander didn't miss it. He swiped his tongue over his lips and closed the gap between them again, hand coming up to slip under the hood of his sweatshirt and cradle the side of Robbe's neck. Robbe hummed against his mouth and grabbed at Sander's chest, as if he were slipping away, growing out of reach.

They kissed each other for a few minutes more, until Robbe reluctantly pulled away, insisting he really had to go—and then they kissed for a while more after that, and then, _"Okay, Robbe. Go home."_ Sander acting insulted by the boy's "sudden" leave.

_"Sander, I've been here for over two hours."_

_"Two hours too short."_

_"I'll see you in… fourteen and a half hours."_

_"Bright and early," he nodded firmly._

Robbe couldn't leave the apartment without saying goodbye to the cat, who instantly demanded his attention in the hallway. And Sander stood back to admire it all, at Robbe slowly but surely merging into his life, playing with his cat while wearing _his_ sweatshirt, knowing well the floorplan of _his_ apartment. When Robbe finally managed to convince Sander he absolutely had to go, it was around four-thirty, and the sky was already growing dark. They said their goodbyes, and Sander waited until Robbe was completely out of sight down the staircase before shutting his apartment door and sliding down against it. Dusty walked over his lap, and he caught her before she could scurry away. Holding her in the air in front of him, he knitted his eyebrows.

"Hey, back off a bit. You don't always have to be the center of attention." The cat just meowed, wiggling to be put down. Sander obliged and let her continue roaming about the entrance area, drawing his knees to his chest and letting out a sigh. If only fourteen hours were fourteen minutes.

**_\- robbe -_ **

**monday, 18:46**

"See, now I'm excited."

"Same."

"Oh my god, please stop." Robbe rubbed his hands over his face, annoyed with his roommates and their heightened curiosity about Sander. "Just say hi, that's it. Just say hi and carry on with whatever."

He had explained to them the whole ordeal with Tristan on Saturday, then casually dropped in the part about Sander, and of course had to explain how Sander was a student he met on the train a few weeks ago and his excuse for not having been at the party on Friday. Moyo lowly whistled at that, and Jens rose his eyebrows. Robbe protested their speculations, _"Nothing happened."_ But then it came time to mention yesterday, when something _did_ happen, and all three of the boys started talking at once, asking questions and shaking Robbe's shoulder to say "good for you, man." Robbe found it funny just how invested they were in his dating life, even though he had _just_ arrived at this part with Sander. But at the same time, he really hadn't been with anyone whose name he remembered for longer than a week, or even a night, not exactly used to the process of forming a legitimate connection with someone—unless it had happened by chance, and eventually on his own accord, which it did with Sander.

Jens and Moyo had asked repeatedly if Robbe really was alright after Saturday, not having had any idea he was feeling lightheaded the moment they entered the bar. Jens apologized for being too distracted, him and Moyo both feeling fresh guilt at the realization, insisting they were supposed to look out for each other and fucked up. Robbe reassured them it was okay, that it would have been a lot worse had Sander not been there, which brought them back to interrogating him about Sander.

"So you guys met on _the train?_ Is this a movie?" Aaron asked in wonderment, Jens nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, Robbe, what the fuck?"

"What?" Robbe jerked his head back at the accusatory tone, raising his hands defensively.

"I mean, why didn't you say anything? I thought something was going on with Tristan this whole time—"

" _Don't_ mention Tristan. Don't say his name at all. Sander is… not a fan."

Moyo whistled again. "Shit, drama. To be fair, Tristan really is a dick."

"Right," Aaron agreed. Jens nodded.

"Why the interest in who I'm seeing? This was supposed to be chill…" Robbe whined and rubbed his hands over his face once more.

Jens shrugged. "This is new to us. You know all about our status in that area; we barely know what's up with you. I mean, except the thing with T… you-know-who."

Robbe opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. He supposed they were right, that Sander would be the first person in… forever, for Robbe to talk about to his roommates before they met him. The first person he deemed worthy of an introduction. But it wasn't even a question, with Sander. Why _wouldn't_ Robbe treat this seriously? After yesterday, especially yesterday, he knew this was unlike anything he really experienced with anyone. He actually wanted to have something more; and not incur disappointment on his own end by actively avoiding commitment, like he did with every other fleeting connection—most of Robbe's "connections" meaning compromising his own interests and values to satisfy the other's expectations of him. And Sander didn't ask him for that, wouldn't ask him for that.

"Okay, well," Robbe focused on the floor ahead of him, hands clasped behind his back and mind traveling to daydreams of Sander's deep voice, Sander's hands, Sander's _mouth_ —he shook his head, looking back up at the three pairs of eyes staring at him expectedly. "I actually don't want to mess this up, so just act normal about it, please. And don't, like, wait by the door for him to show up. Just do whatever you were doing."

"Got it, got it." The three of them went back to their respective spots throughout the kitchen and living room, Jens sending a wink Robbe's way before turning around.

Robbe bit his lip in anticipation, but mostly impatience. He just _really_ wanted to see Sander already. The morning had been more than enough—Sander greeting Robbe with coffee and a gentle kiss atop his head, waiting until they boarded to kiss him against the window, easing off eventually so Robbe could work on his computer. And it was normal, like they always had been; Sander leaning his head against the seat and watching Robbe work diligently, only this time with a lot more comments unrelated to video editing.

_"You look so hot when you do this."_

_"Do what?"_

_"Ugh, when you export the file," Sander groaned, tilting his head back in frustration. "How long until tonight? I think you should just get off at Ghent. Just tell the professors you're a non-matriculated student, they'll believe you."_

Robbe laughed at Sander's ridiculous comments and urgency, but the truth was, he really couldn't wait to see Sander again either.

He took one last look into his room, satisfied with its appearance and only becoming more eager for the boy's arrival. When the doorbell finally rang, Robbe buzzed him in immediately, rushing to the door. While he waited, Moyo whistled _again,_ and Robbe spoke in his direction, "Moyo, I swear—"

Three knocks.

Robbe cut himself off and took in a deep breath, timidly letting it out as he turned the knob.

And instantly locking eyes with him in the doorway was Sander, clad in his beanie and leather jacket, somehow looking even better than Robbe had remembered.

He smiled, baring teeth. "Hi."

"Hi." Robbe placed a hand on the doorframe and leaned in to kiss him in greeting, feeling Sander smile into it. Robbe moved to the side, gesturing toward the apartment. "Come in."

Sander stepped inside, following Robbe to hang up his belongings.

Robbe failed to hold in his laugh at how long it took Sander to unlace his Docs, trying to pass it off as a cough but Sander eyed him.

"What is it?"

"It takes you, like, ten minutes just to unlace your boots," Robbe said, and Sander stood up, face only inches from Robbe's.

"And what should I do, sacrifice my whole image because of a few extra minutes? Priorities…"

Robbe laughed, and he tugged on Sander's arm to lead him to the rest of the apartment. He silently prayed that his roommates would respect the protocol they laid down for when Sander arrived.

"Okay, so," he turned the corner with Sander in tow. "This is the kitchen, and living room," he pointed to the two spaces, "and that's Aaron, Moyo, and Jens." He tried not to roll his eyes at how his roommates were all sat at the kitchen table, clearly having done so in order to meet Sander all together, against Robbe's wishes of making this look unplanned.

Sander sent a small wave, "Hey."

The three all said their hellos at once, Jens particularly raising his eyebrows a bit at Robbe, making a subtle "not bad" nod. Robbe was relieved at the casualness of it, just like they were all twenty-something uni students, past the point of first impressions being anything more than a brief greeting—and that's exactly what it was.

Save for Jens getting up and asking, "Hey, Robbe, can I talk to you about something?" He hooked his arm around Robbe's, pulling him into the hallway.

"What—"

"Just a minute, just a minute," Jens said, leaving Robbe no time to apologize for the interruption on his friend's behalf.

When they were out of view, Robbe glowered at him, clearly irritated. "Jens, what is it?"

"Chill," Jens waved him off as if it were no big deal. "First of all, nice job with Sander," he grinned smugly.

Robbe pushed his shoulder, trying to head back to the kitchen. "Was that all?"

"No, no," Jens dragged him back, turning serious. "I actually needed to tell you earlier, but I forgot and it's kind of important. Sorry. I was sending in the month's rent earlier and like, I don't know how this happened, okay? But I accidentally submitted it _twice,_ from my account, and that would've been okay had I deposited more money in last week but now I'm technically in debt and don't get paid until the weekend…" Robbe tuned out his story for a moment, too busy thinking about the certain bleach blond left behind in his kitchen with his other two roommates. "Can you contact the unit and fix it, please? They hate me."

Robbe sighed, only half registering the issue but knowing enough to comply with the favor. "Yeah, whatever, yes. When do I need to?"

"…As soon as possible? Please. Like by tonight."

"Fine. I'll fix it, just text me your account number."

"Okay. Thank you, thank you, thank you," he smiled, relieved, and suddenly they heard laughter coming from the direction of the kitchen. They shared a look, Robbe recognizing Sander's voice amongst the others'.

The two of them stepped back into the kitchen, Robbe taken aback by the sight in front of him. He definitely didn't expect to return to Sander sat at the table with Moyo and Aaron, the three of them engrossed in some conversation of which Robbe couldn't pick up the context. Aaron said something that made the other two laugh, Sander's eyes squinting the way they did whenever he smiled big. And the image was just so _ordinary,_ like Robbe didn't have nearly as much to worry about as he had anticipated.

He slowly approached the table, clearing his throat. "Hello?"

"Hey, Robbe," Moyo said dismissively and turned his attention back to Sander, continuing the conversation. "Wait, explain it again." Aaron showed interest, too, completely ignoring Robbe's presence.

Sander snorted at Robbe's look of offense.

"Sorry, sorry," Sander said apologetically to the two, humor written on his face and standing up from his chair. "Another time." They gave disappointed looks as he joined Robbe in the direction to his room. "It was nice to meet you," he waved a farewell. Jens, Moyo, and Aaron returned the gesture, calling out their goodbyes as Robbe remained baffled by the way things were playing out.

"Uh?" He gave Sander a confused glance as they passed through the living area to Robbe's room, at the opposite end of the apartment than the other three. He immediately called it as his the moment they toured the unit a year ago, knowing he would occasionally value the separation and extra square footage. And right now, he _really_ valued the privacy.

Sander shrugged, following along. "Your roommates are cool."

"They already seem obsessed with you."

Sander chuckled, playing coy. "I barely said anything."

Robbe shook his head, partly in fascination by what seemed like Sander's universal congeniality, almost instantly earning the attention and well regard of others. But he figured he understood it, having realized from his time with Sander that the boy really didn't have a bad bone in his body—he was always giving, and always quick to drop things if someone needed him, and just kind in the way that was difficult to come by in general.

The two entered the bedroom and Robbe let the door ease closed. He held his hands behind his back, surveying the space himself. From his bed that took up most of the left side, to the two windows, and the exposed brick wall to the right. The towering bookshelves that he and Jens had put together themselves one night last summer, Robbe not realizing just how many books he had accumulated over the years at school in addition to the ones he already owned. He supposed the room looked typical for a university student who didn't know how to spend the excess funds he saved from being painfully frugal in high school. Half of his drawers were also filled with camera equipment and random cords, not exactly organized but Robbe knew where everything was, so he could cope with the occasionally tangled mess of wiring.

Sander walked over to the brick wall, running his hand over it. "This is sick," he remarked, averting his gaze to the nearly-ceiling-tall bookshelves and reading the bindings.

"Yeah, mine's the only room that has it," Robbe said, moving to stand next to him. He watched Sander tilt his head to follow the shelving all the way up, and he explained, "The building's really old, that's why the ceilings are so tall."

Sander hummed in response, turning to Robbe after perusing the book titles. "So much biology." He gestured toward an entire row of textbooks, the collection making Robbe internally wince at the memory.

"Yeah, what I almost studied."

"Really?" Sander raised an eyebrow. Robbe nodded. "Interesting…" He continued his inspection. "Ah," he pointed toward the section Robbe set aside for film history and camera manuals. "And we're back in present day." Robbe laughed lightly, fond of Sander's curiosity and observation. "You read a lot."

Robbe shrugged. "Books are cheap, at least used ones. And the place next door lets you get, like, five for a dollar."

Sander softly smiled, turning fully to look at Robbe, tilting his head a bit. He squinted as if thinking something over.

"What?"

Sander didn't respond at first, just reached up to adjust a piece of Robbe's hair that had fallen out of place, taking his time before bringing his hand back down.

"Nothing." He bent down to kiss him, winding his arms around his waist, where they belonged.

Robbe felt his heart grow warm at the fact that he could do this now; could kiss Sander and hug him and have it all reciprocated. He felt utterly at peace, breathing in the older boy's cologne that lingered off his shirt.

Sander began to ask, slowly, "Do you have anything we can…?" Robbe caught on, reaching over to his desk and pulling out a joint. Sander smiled. "Nice."

Robbe walked over to the window and slid it part of the way open, turning around to Sander enveloping him in his arms once more, making Robbe giggle when he kissed him again. Sander was really, really good at kissing him. Or maybe Robbe was just really, really into Sander and that's why he felt as if all of his problems suddenly vanished into the air the moment their lips touched and Sander pulled him closer to his chest. _It was both, he knew that._

Having Sander come over on a Monday night could have been both one of the best and worst decisions Robbe made. Worst, because he wasn't sure he would ever allow the boy to leave; but best because—many things. First, seeing Sander smoke didn't exactly make Robbe's thoughts run chaste. And at one point the kisses began to communicate just that; Robbe more thankful by the second that the door was closed. They talked about everything and nothing, scrolling through social media with Sander's head on Robbe's chest, every so often laughing together when they came across something funny. And when the hunger began to settle in, Sander insisted he would make Robbe something, so the two of them went back to the kitchen where Sander practically raided the cabinets for maybe three ingredients at most. Robbe just sat on the counter and followed his movements, high still in his system; Sander's, too. Which maybe explained why the boy was so ecstatic to present his final product to Robbe: croques, slightly burnt. But he swore it was an abnormality, _"I'm the best at making them, Robbe, seriously. It's your stove's fault. Or this pan."_ They ate in the kitchen, Sander standing between Robbe's legs and lifting him off when they decided to return to his room.

It was well past sunset when Sander made his way back home, leaving Robbe with the promise of coffee in the morning, as always. Robbe hated to see him go, especially since he realized he still had to resolve Jens's problem from earlier, among a handful of other things before going to sleep. But all he could think about while completing the tasks was the boy whose absence felt like a heavy shadow in Robbe's room, his bedding still warm and creased. He went to sleep that night with a clear head, only hoping the morning could come sooner.

**tuesday, 12:50**

Robbe stared out the window, waiting for lecture to begin. Through the sheer layer of frost on the glass, buildings were a blur, their features muted by the gray overlay of the sky. The winter was unrelenting. The indoors were palliative. But outside still the wind raged around the people and trees, freezing the waters and forcing any and all to seek out warmth.

Uni was a lot right now, deadline after deadline approaching. But Robbe was _mostly_ handling it, bar the way his eyes threatened to shut by two in the afternoon. There were only so many monotonous, hour-and-a-half-long lectures he could endure before exhausting his attention span. And if his perfunctory nods of understanding whenever the professor asked the standard _"Everyone following along?"_ were any indication of how burnt out he would feel come Friday, he would need to resort to his past remedy of Ritalin and excessive amounts of caffeine just to get through the week.

He stared at his notes. _Experimental Production, Unit 9._ He let out a sigh, watching faceless students filter into the room and engage in quiet conversation. None of his friends were in this class, so it was even more of a drag than usual; even though his professor's strictness likely wouldn't allow for him to even use his friends as a distraction had they been there.

The second hand circulating the clock treaded along agonizingly slow. Still eight more minutes. Why did he get there so early?

He tapped his pen on the desk, blowing air through his lips and letting his eyes flitter around the room. He spotted the typical first row of avid participators, those students who asked the professor just a handful too many questions for it to be appreciated. Really, their intentions to increase the chances of a grade boost were painfully transparent. Robbe sat third row; but not for those reasons of hoping the professor remembered his face—rather, his eyesight wasn't the best and reading the projector slides from thirty feet away was not ideal.

A figure entering through the side door caught his attention, his gaze averting to the tall, bleached blond, probably student athlete who sauntered in to find a seat. Robbe looked the guy over, thinking to himself that his hair looked rather piecey; streaky, even. Sander's well-distributed bleach job served as good comparison, and Robbe concluded the latter was much better. Now he was thinking about Sander, and Sander's hair. And running his fingers through it, and tugging on it—

What was Sander doing right now?

He tapped the pen against his closed lips, staring at the wall in thought. One o'clock; he thought he remembered Sander saying he had a gap between classes at this hour. Maybe he was bored, too. Without thinking, he pulled out his phone and typed out a quick message.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _how do you keep your hair so white?_

Not more than ten seconds later, he saw Sander was typing. He moved more toward the edge of his seat, resting his elbows on the desk and waiting for a response.

 **_Sander:_ ** _aren't you supposed to be in class, robin_

Robbe bit back a smile, eyebrow quirking in amusement at the use of the nickname.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _robin?_

 **_Sander:_ ** _yes._

 **_Sander:_ ** _go pay attention_

Robbe rolled his eyes, foot tapping on the ground and glancing up for a second to see the professor entering the lecture hall, setting up for the day's presentation.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _class doesn't start for five minutes_

The clock now seemed to be back up to pace, maybe accelerated, even. Robbe wanted to rip it out of the wall, rewire it so he could just have a few more minutes to stay on his phone. He felt pathetic, absolutely abashed by his own frivolity as if he were sixteen again and texting his crush about homework.

 **_Sander:_ ** _toner. lots of it_

Robbe smiled, typing out the next thing on impulse.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _miss you_

 **_Sander:_ ** _I miss you._

They sent a few more back and forth, Robbe feeling some of the dread for the remainder of his day getting smaller with each cheesy message received. Eventually, the professor began projecting the lecture slides, late-coming students hurrying to the remaining seats. Robbe didn't ignore the fluttering in his chest—embraced it, really—as he put his phone away, flipping the page in his notebook and awaiting his professor's greeting.

**_\- sander -_ **

**wednesday, 00:14**

Sander rolled over in bed, grinning at his phone where his messages with Robbe from the past hour were open.

It was supposed to be a quick goodnight text, a "see you in the morning," but inevitably transformed into an excuse to continue talking to each other despite having to be awake in only a few hours. Sander had been telling Robbe about how he came home to Senne being chased by Dusty around the apartment, running to his room before he slammed the door shut and told Sander he wasn't coming back out until she fell asleep again.

 **_Robbe:_ ** _stop I just had to sit up from laughing I'm going to wake everyone up_

Robbe was so cute. Sander couldn't help it; had to hear that beautiful laugh and perhaps it would be enough to finally say goodnight for real.

 **_Sander:_ ** _call me_

The second he picked up, Robbe was already laughing, struggling to even say hello. It was contagious; Sander running a hand over his face and failing to fight the oncoming laughter himself. When they finally calmed down, Robbe let out a long sigh, the line turning quiet.

Sander spoke, voice a bit scratchy from tiredness. "No, but Robbe. Go to sleep."

"Okay," he replied in a singsong voice, clearly unopposed to the idea. Sander smiled and closed his eyes.

"Okay, goodnight Robbe."

"Goodnight Sander."

They remained on the line still, neither saying anything.

Sander kept talking. "Do you want vanilla in your coffee tomorrow? I bought the syrup," he said sleepily, yawning.

He could hear Robbe shuffle around in bed, getting ready to drift off. "Mm… Yes please."

"Okay. Night."

"Night."

**wednesday, 06:40**

Sander didn't realize just how great it would be to finally be with Robbe. Well, he had an idea, as proven by the helpless daydreaming he endured prior to them even becoming properly acquainted.

But now, it was like every moment shared put Sander in even greater disbelief that all of it was taking place in just a short amount of time. He and Robbe had been over each other's apartments, met each other's roommates, texted non-stop on weekdays between classes; and then there were the small moments, too. Like the way Robbe would quietly breathe out his name when Sander kissed down his neck, or became speechless—literally—when looking at Sander's works in progress that he asked to see, or when he absentmindedly played with the ring on Sander's finger, like he was doing right now.

Leaning against the window, Robbe held Sander's hand in both of his own and removed the silver band, trying it out on all of Sander's fingers. The overly irritable businessman on their train was _especially_ irritable that morning, yelling into the phone about whatever new corporate crisis his firm was facing. The rest of the commuters seemed too familiar with the disruption to even blink an eye. It had rained overnight, and the strong scent from the dampness off the pavement had traveled to inside the train. Robbe's laptop was open but neglected, mind clearly elsewhere than schoolwork.

Sander knew he was tired. His eyes were downcast, smiles just barely convincing, and Sander wished he could give a word to Robbe's university about how they were unjustly piling on the work. But he had his own agenda to tackle for the next few days, and he grew antsy thinking about how they both had break next week. Sure, Robbe's university was still holding classes on Monday—Sander couldn't imagine _why,_ but whatever. He still looked forward to spending many of his days off with Robbe, taking him places, showing him things. He hadn't remembered the early stages of dating someone having been this gratifying, fueled by genuine interest and not some overarching obligation.

However, at the forefront of Sander's mind was the coming Friday. His university would be holding its seasonal charity event that normally took place the day before the students' week off. It was a little showy for his liking, what with the formal dress code and auction that took place; he knew that these events, largely catered to alumni and current students alike, were many people's excuse to dress up and abuse the access to the open bar. He wasn't going to pass judgment; he enjoyed the previous year's, and Senne and Zoë had accompanied him as well—a reserved number for outside guests was encouraged as the greater capacity would yield more donations.

Formalwear, free food, free alcohol; Sander could only think of one thing missing in order to make the night one hundred percent tolerable—far beyond tolerable; enjoyable. He hadn't yet thought about inviting Robbe for several reasons: For starters, they weren't actually _together_ until Sunday, and Sander had planned to go with only Senne and Zoë up until then. Second, by Monday he figured it was too last-minute. Putting another stressor on Robbe's plate that week was the last thing he wanted to do; plus, he knew it was a big ask for him to take the train to Ghent right after classes on Friday and likely change on campus beforehand (yes, he had thought out the possible scheduling). Lastly, he didn't want to be too… forward. Too much in too short time having been together. Technically, they weren't even _officially_ together, at least not by some verbal confirmation, and Sander didn't want to assume anything was more serious than it really was.

At the same time, he couldn't deny how much he wanted Robbe to come with him. To spend an entire night in a crowded room and know he had that pair of brown eyes there to anchor him, soft hands in his to alleviate the uneasiness Sander tended to experience when surrounded by too many people for a prolonged amount of time—he wanted that; maybe even needed it. He thought it over all last night, even asking Senne for advice. Of course, he was given the automatic green light from his roommate, who urged him to ask Robbe as soon as he saw him the next morning. This morning.

He seized Robbe's hands by gently grabbing one and giving a light squeeze, prompting the boy's eyes to meet his. He gave a small smile, Sander returning it and taking a moment to just take in the image before him. Deep brown curls complemented the faint spread of freckles, mile-long eyelashes, his fair complexion. He felt the words get caught for a second, only taken out of his trance when Robbe squeezed his hand back and then released his hold, returning his attention to his computer.

The nerves noticeably began to spike as Sander had anticipated they would, and he decided it would be best to say something sooner rather than later. So he placed his hand back on Robbe's just as he was typing something out, making him look up.

"Yes?"

Sander swallowed. He couldn't help the smile that creeped onto his face as he posed the question, "What are you doing on Friday?"

Robbe thought for a moment, contemplative gaze lost somewhere over Sander's shoulder before he refocused, responding, "Nothing… I think. Being happy this week is over." He wryly laughed. But when Sander's grin broke out at the response, he quirked a brow. "Why?"

"There's, uh…" Sander felt his mouth go dry and he let out a cough in the back of his throat, suddenly feeling the urge to drop the idea. They hadn't even been on a real, first date yet. Inviting Robbe to a formal event, with a ton of people he'd never met; he was sure to decline—or worse, begrudgingly accept. And then he would think Sander was forcing this dynamic on them, putting a label on something without actually _putting a label on it,_ overstepping boundaries, changing the trajectory of things, making Robbe uncomfortable—

"Hey." Robbe waved a hand in Sander's face, drawing his attention back to the real world. "What's on Friday?" Robbe asked gently, fingers brushing Sander's forearm.

Sander looked into his eyes, clung to the way they grounded him, and took a deep breath.

"There's an event. Charity auction. At my," he licked his lips. "At my school." He didn't miss the small smile on Robbe's face, his silence signaling for Sander to continue. "It's one of those things where people just get drunk in nice clothes and blow all of their money on things they don't need in the name of making a donation. A donation they don't remember the next morning." Robbe let out a light laugh, nodding in understanding. Sander breathed. It couldn't be this hard, could it? "And the head of the department lets certain students bring guests, you know, he knows me well so I have a handful of invites at my disposal. I just wanted to know—I know it's so last-minute, and you probably don't want to go to a huge thing like this after this long week. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come?" He let out on a breath, attempting a smile to mask how his heart was racing in his chest. "I mean, I want you there. I mean… If you can. If you want."

There, he was done. He stared at Robbe, trying to read his expression, mind in the direction of expecting a rejection simply out of doubt.

But Robbe just smiled, reaching to grab Sander's hand once again. He nodded, "Yeah, I definitely want to. Thank you for asking me." And the way his face lifted at the invitation, excitement spreading across his features, Sander just wanted to surge forward and wrap Robbe in his arms, say a million _thank you's_ and _I love spending time with you's_ against his lips.

"Really?" He tried not to come across as overly elated at the news, though he was sure he wouldn't be able to stop imagining Robbe in a suit until Friday came around.

"Yeah. Just, what time is it? And like… how formal? I finish classes by five, so." Robbe shifted in his seat, closing his computer and fully facing Sander.

"Yeah so, I thought this out a bit," Sander said honestly, breathing out a laugh. "It starts at seven. Says semi-formal; everyone just wears suits, not black-tie or anything obviously. I was thinking you could get ready before you leave campus and then meet me at the station in Ghent around six-thirty? I can pick you up from there. And I know you'll be coming straight from uni, so that's kind of annoying—"

Robbe stopped him before he could flood his rambling with apologies and alternatives, shaking his head. "Not annoying. I still have classes Monday but nothing due. I can just leave everything in my professor's office over the weekend, I've done it before." He sent a reassuring smile, and Sander exhaled.

"Okay. Okay, cool."

Robbe chuckled at his nervousness, leaning in and placing a light kiss at the corner of his mouth. He said softly, "I think it's going to be really fun."

And how he managed to eliminate all of Sander's once-worries like that, with his touch and his words, Sander would never understand—he rarely understood it, the way in which Robbe could singlehandedly control the beat of his heart like it were flipping a switch.

"Me too. Well, moreso now that you'll be there," he grinned sheepishly. "But um, Senne and Zoë are coming, too. So you'll be in good company. And you don't have to do the auction, obviously," he laughed. "It's mostly just the alumni who do it…" He closed his lips, thinking if there were any other important details he could mention off the top of his head. But another laugh escaped him, and this time he looked down in embarrassment. "Sorry, it's just that. I'm inviting you to an _auction_ before, like, a real date. I'm sorry."

Robbe laughed with him. "Why are you apologizing for inviting me to a formal event with an open bar? If you'd asked me weeks ago, before I even knew your name, I'm sure I wouldn't say no," he joked.

Sander beamed at him, because, _how could a person be this perfect?_ "Okay, I'll let them know I'm bringing another person."

"Okay."

"I'm excited."

"Me too."

Sander pressed his lips against Robbe's, the kiss firm and certain, hoping he communicated just how thankful he was to have him here, and to have him come on Friday. When he pulled back, Robbe quickly went in for another. And not even the disruptive ranting over financial negotiations a few rows up could have minimized the moment.

**thursday, 14:30**

"Nice, Sander. Watch the edges here," Sander's instructor gestured to the uppermost part of the canvas, then withdrew her hand and replaced it behind her back as she walked along to the next student.

Sander focused in on that section, decidedly switching the brush he currently used for a finer one, collecting just enough paint from the swatches he mixed earlier and drawing it to the canvas. Carefully, he resolved the small inconsistency with the brush and then went back to add more fine details throughout the piece, searching for whatever needed more dimension.

The brushstrokes were light, cautious, as he hadn't been tracing an initial sketch but rather free-handedly composed the image as he went along. He stepped back for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, tilting his head as he surveyed his own work.

The room was mostly quiet, save for the distant hum of classical music his instructor believed enhanced their concentration. Sander found it funny, as most of the time he spent drawing by himself was typically accompanied by rock music played loud enough for his neighbors to hear. But he supposed the clement stream of piano notes was not a bad alternative. As the final minutes of class approached, other students began to gather their materials to clean and store away until tomorrow.

"Excellent."

A voice to his left made Sander turn his attention to the source, finding his instructor observing his work once again. She looked to him after a moment, inquiring, "And you'll be attending the auction tomorrow night?"

Sander nodded. "Yes, looking forward to it. Was really nice last year."

"Oh, it was. I had a look at a few of the pieces they're listing for tomorrow. Very exciting."

Sander could only respond with a hum of acknowledgment, not entirely invested in the actual auction considering he would never be able to afford any of the artwork nor make a notable bid; nonetheless, it was always impressive to see the artists whose pieces the university managed to collect over the years for these events.

"Well if you see me, say hello," she smiled warmly and nodded toward the canvas once again. "Exceptional, really."

Sander smiled in appreciation. "Thank you. And I will."

She walked to the center of the room, notifying everyone of tomorrow being the last day to submit any pending assignments before the winter break. Having been dismissed, Sander cleaned up and headed toward the hallway and took out his phone, a few missed messages from Senne on the screen.

 **_Senne:_ ** _can get there shortly after 7 tm, just confirmed with zoë_

 **_Senne:_ ** _we just give our names?_

 **_Sander:_ ** _yeah should be on the list_

 **_Sander:_ ** _and after you're going back to zoë's?_

 **_Senne:_ ** _yes_

 **_Senne:_ ** _alright with u?_

 **_Sander:_ ** _yeah of course_

 **_Senne:_ ** _ok nice_

Sander swiped off the conversation, opening his with Robbe.

 **_Sander:_ ** _hi :)_

 **_Sander:_ ** _you can come to mine after we get back tomorrow_

 **_Sander:_ ** _will be just us, senne's going back with zoë_

 **_Sander:_ ** _oops forgot you had a class right now_

 **_Sander:_ ** _hope you're paying attention_

 **_Sander:_ ** _kinda can't wait for tomorrow_

 **_Sander:_ ** _thank you for coming with me_

 **_Sander:_ ** _ok sorry am sending too many messages. call tonight?_

Sander bit his lip, realizing just how clingy he sounded, wanting to see or call Robbe every morning and night or else face the emptiness of something missing. But it was refreshing, _relieving_ to have something that kept him on his feet, gave him more to look forward to with every day that came.

He turned the corner to exit the building, heading down the path to meet his friends for a while before his last class of the day. The snow crunched beneath his boots, the winter sun hidden behind the clouds on the horizon. When it would begin to warm up again he wasn't sure, but he prayed for it to be sometime soon; the bitter chill that came with each gust of wind nearly made him lose balance, hurrying his steps so he could be back indoors that much sooner.

**friday, 18:38**

The pavement under Sander's feet felt unsteady, as if shifting with his every step. Tectonic plates that moved in accordance with the jumps in his nerves. He walked along the platform, practically pacing back and forth, waiting for Robbe's train to get there. He took a final look down at their recent messages on his phone.

 **_Sander:_ ** _just got here :)_

 **_Robbe:_ ** _okay_

 **_Robbe:_ ** _can't wait to see you_

 **_Sander:_ ** _then hurry up_

 **_Robbe:_ ** _trying…_

That was less than five minutes ago. According to train schedules, Robbe would be arriving in just a few seconds. Sander leaned against the wall, shivering a bit from only having on his blazer over his dress shirt. He _tried_ to style his hair that morning so it wouldn't look a mess by the evening, but alas, it only looked somewhat less disheveled than usual.

He ached for something to smoke, something to take him out of his head with how jittery he felt at the thought of this technically being his first date with Robbe—though not one's textbook definition of the milestone. Nevertheless, he was more nervous than he had _ever_ remembered being for a first date—he urged himself to just relax, to think about how Robbe was looking forward to this just as much as he was. God, he needed to see Robbe… right now.

When the breeze from the tracks began to pick up, train rushing through the space, he lifted himself off the wall and stood a neutral distance from the doors, not knowing where Robbe would be coming off.

Other figures eased out of the vehicle's exits, and those waiting for the train beside Sander, likely going home, boarded in their place. He walked a little to the right, panning the area for Robbe until he heard the familiar voice at his side.

"Hi." Sander's heart skipped at the sound, and he turned to see Robbe there, eyes immediately locking with his.

And, well. Sander could have very well been swept up by the wind from the train taking off again, because he could barely feel his stance on the ground anymore.

Robbe. Robbe… in a plaid green bowtie. And a blazer similar to Sander's. And that smile that was always on Sander's mind. And a _bowtie._ The sight rendered him incapable of forming a response, the word 'hello' suddenly unheard of.

His speechlessness must have been apparent because Robbe laughed shyly and spoke again, this time more unsure. "I'm not too late, am I?"

Sander blinked at him, shaking his head. "No, no. Right on time. You're…" And the silence took over once again. It wasn't his fault; what nerve did Robbe have stepping off a train in the evening after an entire day of classes and looking this _perfect?_ Like an actual model for a wedding guest attire catalog. Sander cleared his throat. "You look really good."

Robbe grinned at that, reaching out to tug on the lapel of Sander's jacket. "So do you."

And that bowtie was just staring at him, putting way too many ideas in his head; Sander had to address it. He glanced down from Robbe's face to his collar, noting, "Preppy."

The younger boy's hand absentmindedly came up to his neckline, a small laugh escaping his lips. "I couldn't decide, so…"

Sander just stepped closer and placed his arm around Robbe's waist, pulling him into his side and kissing the top of his head. "It's perfect. You're perfect." He released his hold and found Robbe's hand, interlocking their fingers. "Ready to be in a room full of unreasonably rich people and free wine?"

"Yes, let's go."

Sander decided to show Robbe around his campus a little, being that they had time to spare and he honestly just wanted Robbe to himself for however much longer it was possible.

"So, this is the sad walk I take every morning after my lonely forty-minute train ride, you know, after you leave me," he put on a voice of disappointment.

Robbe laughed softly and leaned into his side, looking around them at the buildings and river to their right. The sun was already long gone, streetlamps and windows providing light upon their path to the event hall. It was picturesque, Sander supposed, not used to appreciating the view on any given day when he just wanted to go home after overstaying in the studio.

"You're so close to the water," Robbe observed, head turned as they walked so he could admire the stream beside them.

Sander nodded, making a quick decision. He diverted their path, pulling Robbe in the other direction toward the riverbank. "Yeah, look at this."

Robbe didn't question the sudden interjection, following him down the grassy area until they were right at the edge of the water. Sander lowered himself to crouch on the ground, still holding on to Robbe's hand. He breathed in through his nose, eyes closed to let the light breeze off the water hit his face. It was serene, all was quiet and still. And he felt Robbe crouch beside him, the boy using his free hand to grab a stone from the riverbank.

He gave a squeeze to Sander's hand. "Look." Sander opened his eyes and watched, Robbe tossing the stone across the water and letting it skip once, twice, before sinking beneath the surface. He grinned proudly and tilted his head as if to say, _yeah, I'm amazing, I know._

Sander picked up his own stone, stating confidently, "I can do that, too."

"Okay."

"Ready?" Robbe nodded. Sander flicked his wrist before the water and let the stone skim the surface in quick jumps; one, two, three. "Ha! I got three. _And_ I'm not using my dominant hand," he raised his right hand that was still grasping Robbe's as if to prove his point.

Robbe rolled his eyes. He didn't respond, instead leaning forward to leave a lingering kiss on Sander's lips. "We're going to be late," he reminded him, and slowly stood back up.

Sander rose to his feet as well, albeit hesitantly, as ditching the event and skipping rocks with Robbe for four hours instead didn't seem like a bad idea. He looked down at the boy, admired the way the glow of the windows beyond the river illuminated his face. The breeze gently lifted his hair from his eyes, eventually easing down and letting it settle across his forehead, and Sander thought about what it would look like if Robbe had let it get longer. He drew up his hand to caress the pieces on the top of his head, carding them through his fingers to gauge their length.

"Ever thought about growing it out?"

Robbe shook his head, "Not really."

"Hm." Sander let his hand fall to Robbe's neck, drawing him closer. He kissed him again, and again, and once more for good measure. "You look so good, it's unfair," he whined. "Can't we just ditch the auction? Movie and cat playtime at my place." He raised an eyebrow.

"We can do that later," Robbe laughed. "…Among other things we can do later."

Oh.

"Don't say that, now I really cannot sit through this entire thing," Sander complained, suddenly wrapping Robbe in his arms and hugging him tight as to show he would not be letting go. "And that fucking bowtie, what the fuck…" he muttered into Robbe's shoulder, shaking his head. "You hate me."

He felt the vibrations of Robbe's laughter against his chest, the boy nearly stumbling backward with how tight Sander's hold was around him. "When I… When I first met you that day on the train, you know, when I asked if you liked drawing or painting more?"

Sander laughed at the memory, nodding. "Yes, I remember it well," he allowed Robbe to continue.

Robbe's arms rose to Sander's shoulders, hugging him back. "I was thinking, like, 'This guy is not at all hard to look at,' I was about to give you my address and number and a time to come over that night."

 _What?_ Sander stilled in his arms, shocked by the confession. After a moment of trying to process, he asked, genuinely in disbelief, "Really?"

"Yeah, kinda wish I had. Could've been doing this a lot sooner," he joked, referencing their being together after what Sander believed was a long period of one-sided pining.

"Yeah…." Wow. "Not hard to look at, hm?"

"Yeah, don't let it get to your head."

"Oh I won't, I won't…" He let it get to his head. Sighing, he stuck out his bottom lip and thought aloud, "I guess it worked out alright, though."

"Would be better if we weren't about to show up late to this thing," Robbe said.

Guiltily, Sander agreed. "Or we could just go back and make out on the train."

Robbe laughed, releasing from their hug. "Come on."

Sander leaned forward, trying to kiss him again, but Robbe moved away, grinning impishly as he pulled Sander back toward the path.

"Robbe!" Sander shouted behind him, whiny and dragging his feet.

Entering the building a quarter after seven, the two of them sighed at the sudden warmth just from the foyer alone. They were asked for their names, both of which Sander gave—and loving the way they sounded together from his own voice; something for him to think about at a later time—and were led inside the main hall.

"Oh, this is nice," Robbe said as they paused past the doorway, looking at the room beyond them. The lighting was low, ceilings tall with arched windows and doors leading outside, round tables arranged throughout the space and the food and bar to their right. _Alumni money really pays,_ Sander thought. It was already full with attendees, considering they arrived a few minutes late. "This is… _really_ nice," Robbe clarified.

"Yeah, kind of a step up from last year," Sander mused, pausing a passing server in his tracks so he could take two glasses from his tray. "Thank you." He handed one to Robbe, clinking them together. "Cheers."

Robbe repeated him, drawing the glass to his lips. They each took a sip, and Sander licked his lips. It was sweet, not overbearingly so. "Shit, that's good."

Robbe nodded in agreement. "Okay, free food," he practically sang and pulled Sander over to the table stacked with plates and cutlery. Sander laughed at his energy, following behind.

They spent a few minutes eating by the bar, away from the crowd—and _flirting,_ what with how often Sander wanted to hand-feed Robbe the hors d'oeuvres and Robbe deciding the best way to get the sauce lingering in the corner of Sander's mouth was to lick his thumb and swipe it across. Needless to say, the action left Sander wishing once again that the event was cut short and they could go home.

After Robbe had convinced him that they should probably go find Sander's other two guests, Sander reluctantly withdrew from their isolated spot at the side of the room and headed toward the crowd with Robbe at his side. A handful of his professors and some classmates spotted him along the way, brief handshakes and e _njoy your night's_ exchanged in passing. He really found the entire atmosphere entirely too pretentious, as were most charity events like this, but every time he turned his head to find Robbe beside him, he decided it could have actually been the best place in the world to be at that moment. Maybe barring the way the girls he knew only from small interactions in the past would very clearly say hello just to turn their attention to Robbe and chat him up. Or maybe that was Sander's understanding of the encounters. But whenever he made it a point to lace his fingers with Robbe's to show they had come together, the girls' expressions would falter momentarily, just before saying "it was nice to meet you" and bidding goodbye.

"Can you stop making everyone here want you?" Sander huffed, knowing Robbe had noticed the flirting as well.

Robbe just shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "I couldn't tell."

"Okay, right." Sander rolled his eyes and Robbe laughed, resuming their walk through the crowded room.

Eventually, they stopped upon finding Senne and Zoë at their table, bidding paddles for the auction arranged at each place setting.

"Hey!" Senne stood from his chair, Zoë joining him. "You're so late, what the hell—Robbe!"

He smiled like a proud parent and Sander mentally urged him not to be weird. Robbe greeted him happily and began to introduce himself to Zoë before she cut him off, saying, "Oh, I know who you are. Sander has… said a lot of great things."

" _Many,_ " Senne added.

"Oh?" He looked at Sander, raising an eyebrow.

Sander ignored them, hurriedly ushering Robbe to sit down with him at the table. "A few great things," he mumbled.

They all took their seats, grabbing more drinks and waiting for the actual bidding to take place as the cocktail hour drew to a close. Senne held up his paddle, saying, "You know, I might actually bid on something tonight."

"Go ahead," Sander said, amused. "But if you actually want to win, be prepared to empty your wallet… and bank account."

Senne chuckled. "True, true." He leaned in so only the three of them could hear his next comment: "All of the donors here are quick to drop a couple thousand euros just like that."

"Art collecting is a serious pursuit," Sander said, sipping his wine. "If I had the funds, I'd get into it too."

"And you say these events are too stuck-up for your liking," Zoë teased and he shrugged. "I like your art more than the ones they auctioned off last year," she added, tone apologetic as if the artists themselves could hear her.

"Thank you, Zoë," he smiled smugly and she rose her eyebrows.

"Not even two drinks in and you're in your overly confident phase," she said and Senne laughed.

Sander scoffed and turned away from them, placing his hand on Robbe's thigh, who looked to be actually enjoying himself, eyes bright upon meeting Sander's. "You're good?"

"Yeah, this is nice," he said, smiling.

"Okay, good. Thank you for being here. You can see I would've died without you," Sander not-so-discreetly gestured toward the other attendees.

"You're so dramatic…" his voice grew quiet as Sander leaned closer to whisper right against his ear.

"No, really. Thank you." He placed a featherlight kiss on his jaw, giving a squeeze where his hand was on Robbe's leg. "I appreciate it," he sat back and smiled.

Robbe's hand came up to touch where Sander had just kissed him—he tended to do that; Sander found it endearing, how Robbe reacted to him—and sent a smile in return.

The auction itself had been fairly typical, a few high offers and back-and-forth bidding causing raised eyebrows. The four of them were only half tuned-in, engaging in side conversation of their own, including turning the auction into a sort of quiz for Sander to see if he had heard of every artist listed.

The auctioneer would introduce the piece, last name of the artist projected behind him, and Sander would throw out a fun fact about them to prove his familiarity with the name. However, it was obvious past a certain point that he was bullshitting some of them as the facts became a bit too vague— _"She… began painting in Europe." They all laughed. "Okay, so, he doesn't know that one," Senne concluded._ The artwork was impressive, in Sander's opinion, and the amounts being offered for it even more so.

As the end of the bidding neared, Robbe looked up toward the front of the room to see the next listing, muttering, "Holy shit." He tugged on Sander's sleeve to get him to see. "Sander."

"What?" He glanced at the podium, then had to blink and do a double take. The name read _DRIESEN,_ and sure enough, it was one of Sander's landscapes at the stage. "Um, what the fuck?" He laughed out of shock.

Senne and Zoë were wide-eyed, covering their mouths in surprise. "That's yours?" Sander nodded, speechless. "Oh my god. When did you let them have it?" Senne asked.

"I…" Sander stopped himself momentarily, as the auctioneer had begun taking bids, and people around the room jumped at the offer with their raised paddles. He continued, explaining quickly, "I painted it last year and my advisor asked if they could archive it for the university. Meaning permanently. I didn't really think much about it; it was just an assignment—"

" _2,500, anyone more than 2,500?_ "

"3,000!" A voice called out from another table.

Sander's eyes widened at how quickly the offers were rising. Robbe turned to look around the room where the patrons battled it out with their bids. "They really want it," he said, amazed.

"This is weird," Sander laughed and shook his head, dumbfounded by the turn of events.

" _9,400, anyone more than 9,400? 9,400 going once, twice, sold to Number 45 for 9,400!_ "

Sander's jaw was practically on the floor, the four of them freaking out. It was one of the highest purchases of the night, if he could recall correctly the ones before.

Their frantic praise and words of disbelief caught the attention of one of the donors at the table, and she asked, "You know the artist?"

"He's the artist," Robbe placed his hand on Sander's arm.

"Oh, wow. Congratulations." She reached out to shake his hand. "It's an excellent piece; I didn't realize they were listing student work as well."

Sander was baffled still—to his knowledge, it was the only piece by a student in the entire auction. "Me neither. Thank you."

"9,400 euros," Robbe repeated, stunned. "That's… a lot. Oh my god, you're gonna be contacted by everyone in this room by next week, almost all of them made an offer."

Sander didn't know how to react. Perhaps it was best he didn't swear off these things in the future. Senne rose his glass, "I'll drink to that."

They all shared a celebratory cheers, Sander feeling elated by the end of the night. He definitely did not anticipate such a surprise, and he made a mental note to find the person in the department who was responsible and thank them. When the auction concluded and people began to move around the room again to socialize a bit more before calling it a night, Sander couldn't ignore his own eagerness to leave—not because he wasn't having a good time; no, he really was. And a few people had already approached him to praise his work, handing business cards and such. But what Sander really wanted to do, and what he had been set on doing the moment they arrived, was go back to his apartment and truly express his gratitude for Robbe's attendance (and existence), in more ways than verbal.

He thanked the couple who was currently commending him and turned to Robbe once they walked away. "Let's go back now, yeah?"

"Don't you want to stay and—"

"No," Sander shook his head. "No." He held both of Robbe's hands in his own and tried to communicate the urgency with his eyes, to which Robbe seemed to have caught on.

"Okay, yeah, let's go."

Sander smiled and turned around to let Senne and Zoë know they were heading out. The four of them exchanged goodbye hugs and final congratulations to Sander. Before they left the hall, Robbe tugged Sander to the bar once more.

"Can we get, um, two shots of vodka?" Robbe asked, and Sander stifled laughter behind him. The bartender didn't question it, probably knowing what end-of-night indulgences to expect when running an open bar at a university-funded event.

Robbe thanked the man and handed one to Sander, winking. "To your piece selling for 9,400 euros," he said.

"Yes, to that." They threw the shots back. Robbe barely had time to react to the sharp bitterness, Sander rushing them out of the building and back to the train station.

There was no one else on the platform as they waited for the midnight train to arrive, and Sander took both of Robbe's hands and brought them up to Sander's neck, his own arms moving to wrap around Robbe's waist. He held the younger boy closer, feeling him lean his head against Sander's shoulder, and began swaying them a bit. Robbe giggled, the alcohol coursing through them and only heightening their impatience to make it back. "There's no music…"

Sander shushed him, replying over his shoulder, "Just imagine we're listening to the Beatles. _Here, making each day of the year…_ " He began to sing and Robbe laughed, pulling back to interrupt his serenade with a kiss—which Sander immediately deepened, fingers digging into Robbe's sides through his shirt.

On the train they barely managed to resist tearing at each other's clothes, taking advantage of the empty space by breathily telling each other of their not-so-innocent plans for once they got to Sander's apartment, kisses growing heavier with each passing minute.

The walk—more like love-drunk and actual-drunk stumbling—to Sander's place was nothing more than a haze, scrambling up the stairs with their hands on each other and Sander fumbling with his key, practically slamming the door behind them once they entered his room.

"Off, off, off," Robbe breathed as he pulled at Sander's blazer, hurrying to unbutton his own shirt. Sander hastily pulled off his belt, hands moving to undo Robbe's, their kisses never stopping once.

And when they hit the bed, they were immediately tangled in endless touches and whispered endearments, moments of clumsiness and laughter, but most of all lasting mesmerization from gazing into the other's eyes; a deep ocean of jade crashing into immeasurable miles of gold. Honey-sweet promises spoken into soft skin and jagged breaths.

The moonlight cascaded across the floorboards, the world outside completely still.

Sander took all of it in, didn't once doubt any of it was happening; and with Robbe's hands tangled in his hair, and Robbe's mouth on his neck, he found the idea of heaven not at all contrived. This was heaven; this was every good memory and sensation and song and shade. He heard the sweetest melodies, saw stars and all else beyond them. And when he fell asleep in Robbe's arms, he couldn't draw the distinction between the real world and the one in his dreams.

**_\- robbe -_ **

**saturday, 07:30**

Songbirds. And sunlight—way too bright. Robbe blinked a few times, heavy eyes dragging across the room before him.

It was Sander's bare chest pressed against his back, Sander's steady breathing hitting his neck. Sander's arms draped over him, Sander's legs entwined with his. Robbe needed only a few seconds to recall the previous night's events, suddenly feeling himself smile lazily at the memory.

The entire night with Sander was perfect, beginning to end. _Especially_ the end… Robbe's eyes fluttered down, moving his hand to rest above Sander's, running his finger over his ring. He didn't remember the last time he had sex without having to hurriedly gather his things in the morning and leave without a formal goodbye, or kick the other person out from his own place. He actually didn't recall any of his past times being similar to last night at _all_. When the touches were patient, yet still driven, and the words earnest and few. Only saying as much as was necessary, movements communicating the rest. He didn't remember it ever feeling so good in its entirety, unable to even really identify when Round One turned into Round Two—in fact, he didn't remember Round Two ever being a thing in the past, at least not in such seamless succession.

He lifted his head, gazing down at their clothing left sprawled at the foot of the bed. The birds continued chirping out the window. Robbe guessed it must have been warmer out than usual. He turned and nestled back into Sander's embrace, letting his eyes close just to savor the rest of the morning.

It wasn't long before soft kisses were being pressed along the back of his neck, arms winding around him to pull his body closer. Sander hummed deeply into his skin and it made Robbe's heart flutter. No, he hadn't remembered the morning after ever being _anything_ like this.

"Robbe…" he grumbled, voice deep and sleepy.

Robbe whispered, "What?"

Sander sighed. "Let's get breakfast."

Robbe giggled softly because Sander had to still be half asleep. "Right now?" He traced his finger along Sander's forearm.

"Yes, right now."

Robbe began to ease himself out of Sander's hold, responding, "Okay." But then he was being pulled back, hugged impossibly tighter, Sander's limbs locking him in place.

"Nevermind, not right now." He nosed into Robbe's curls, getting comfortable again.

Robbe let out another giggle, surrendering to the embrace. "Sander…"

"Yes?" Robbe could hear the smile in his voice.

"I need to take a shower," he said with hesitance, wishing too that he could stay cuddled up to Sander for a few more hours at least. But his mussed hair and the lingering post-sex smell on the sheets advised otherwise.

"Do you _need_ to?" Sander pressed, beginning to fully wake up.

"Yes."

The older boy sighed in defeat, withdrawing his arms from around Robbe and setting him free. "Okay, it's down the hall. Towels are under the sink."

Robbe began to raise another issue, "I don't have…" Realistically, he knew he would be wearing something of Sander's, but he just wanted to hear him say it.

"Third drawer of my dresser, should be something for you there," he mumbled into the pillow, eyes still closed and body limp.

Robbe rose to his feet, stance a bit wobbly. He walked over to the drawer, looking through the folded shirts and joggers before making a selection, quietly padding down the hall.

The shower was hot, and quick, just enough to wake him up and replace the smell of sweat with that of fresh cedar and cypress. After dressing himself in Sander's clothes, which felt like a warm embrace in themselves, he started to make his way back to the bedroom.

A sudden tickling against his ankles made him stop in his tracks and find Dusty weaving between his feet, curling her tail languidly. Robbe smiled, bending down to pick her up, to which she didn't object.

"Good morning," he said quietly, cradling her to his chest. She stretched and yawned in his hold, feet sticking out straight before curling back in.

He stayed in the hall and said a few more mindless things to the creature, scratching behind her ears so that she let out a string of content purrs as he spoke. Eventually, the door to Sander's room was drawn back, and Sander stood in front of them, his own change of clothes in his arms as though he were about to head to the shower himself.

"Hey," he said, running his hand along Dusty's back and then leaning in to leave a soft kiss on Robbe's lips. "I'll be back," he said and Robbe replied with an 'okay,' the two of them sharing smiles before he disappeared down the hall.

Suddenly Robbe wished all of his mornings looked like this.

He grabbed his phone from the bedroom floor, heading back to lay with Dusty on the couch. He looked at the time. Eight A.M., it was still early. A normal amount of missed messages, nothing urgent, and from reading through them Robbe realized he hadn't checked his phone since midway through the event last night.

In the few minutes that Sander showered, Robbe let his thoughts wander. There were many things… Many things to take in, to understand were new but not any less real. For instance, the rosy marks he discovered in places all along his body when in the shower. He knew those were real. Also, the fact that Sander had whispered to him last night just moments before they fell asleep, had asked Robbe if he would be his boyfriend and Robbe saying yes; he could hear the exchange of words replaying in his head. He knew that was real, too. But why he felt it necessary to transmit all of the little things from the end of the night in his mind as if assessing their existence, was because Robbe had never really had something like this before.

The moments of spontaneity somehow merging just right with the simultaneous homeyness of it all, of being in Sander's arms. He never had that harmony before. Things were always too fast, or too slow, and with Sander he felt like he was infinitely willing to take a leap or steady the pace if the older boy needed him to. But it didn't feel like he was bargaining, making choices that would undermine his own interest. No, that was the entire premise behind the harmony with Sander: he didn't need to worry about things like that, didn't need to second-guess what he said or did, didn't need to carry the possibility of being left in the dust, in the wake of something this good. Of course, he did feel the occasional jolts of fear that all of it could be gone, that it was too good to be true; but they were almost immediately soothed by the reassurance that right now, Sander wasn't going anywhere. And Robbe couldn't bother to spend his time worrying about the _end_ when what he had with Sander was really just a beginning.

He held the cat above him, tilting his head to the side. "You really have a nice place here, don't you?" he asked quietly, pausing as if the creature were to reply. "You get fed, and you get space to run, and you get Sander," he said. "You get Sander all the time, don't you think that's unfair for the rest of us?"

The cat meowed, pawing at Robbe's shirt. His one-sided conversation was cut short by Sander snorting in the doorframe, having likely been listening in. He walked over to them, hair damp, and knelt beside the couch so their faces were only a few inches apart. "You'd be surprised just how taken for granted I am around here," he joked in reference to Robbe's words. "This one just doesn't appreciate it," he tickled the cat's stomach, making her squirm on top of Robbe and they both laughed. Robbe was about to respond before his stomach lowly growled.

"Ah, so it's time for breakfast," Sander noted and Robbe smiled, embarrassed. He _was_ hungry, and having breakfast with Sander was not something he would turn down. Sander leaned in to kiss him again, only taking a few seconds before his tongue flicked across Robbe's and Robbe for a brief moment considered dragging him back to bed. But then Sander was pulling back, reaching up to thread his fingers through Robbe's curls and saying, "It's warmer out, we should go get croissants down the street."

"Okay."

"…And coffee."

Robbe smiled. "Okay."

"It feels like spring," Robbe thought aloud, letting the warmth of the sun caress his skin, hand intertwined with Sander's as they headed down the sidewalk.

"Mm… I love it," Sander said, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. Robbe let him lead the way to the bakery, spending most of the walk looking to his left at the light traffic and weekend early birds he rarely ever saw, not used to getting up this early on a Saturday. "Watch out or you'll walk into a pole," Sander teased at the boy's noticeably distracted state and Robbe whipped his head around, smiling innocently.

"I'm never out here on Saturday mornings."

"It's nice," he said and Robbe hummed in response, letting Sander turn them toward the entrance of the bakery. "You know," he began, low enough so only Robbe could hear, "I wasn't sure you'd be so spritely this early in the morning after all that _long, tiring,_ activity last night."

What the fuck.

Robbe felt himself go silent and nearly stumble on his way through the door, Sander letting out a laugh and only tightening his hold on his hand. Robbe begged the oncoming visuals in his head to let up, mind drawing a blank when the person behind the counter asked for their order.

"Can we have, uh…" Robbe squinted his eyes, sex-dazed expression making Sander hold back another laugh and look over the counter, giving their order for him. When the girl turned around, Robbe gave Sander a glare.

"What?" He smiled naughtily, knowing exactly the reason for Robbe's predicament.

Robbe just sighed, shaking his head. "I'm paying."

"No, let me pay."

"No, you've done enough," he shoved at Sander's chest. "But find a table outside?" His contempt for Sander's antics slowly dissipated, and the older boy squeezed his hand once before letting go with a quiet 'alright.'

Robbe swayed on his feet waiting for their food, paying and giving quick thanks before heading through the door to find Sander at one of the tables along the building. He placed down the croissants and coffees, Sander looking up with a smile and unreadable glint in his eye, saying _"thank you."_ Robbe sat across from him and glanced down once he realized Sander was sliding a napkin toward him, an image etched upon it.

He felt his heartbeat quicken, fingers coming down to hold the drawing in his hands. And it was clearly a quick sketch, done in the few minutes Robbe was inside getting their food, but its depiction was still so clear—of Robbe and Dusty where Sander had found them that morning in the hallway, the cat in Robbe's arms and Robbe in Sander's shirt. He didn't know what to say, deciding to ignore the urge to lean across the table and kiss Sander silly. He instead raised an eyebrow, eyeing the pen in Sander's hand. "You brought a pen to breakfast?"

Sander grinned. "There were already a few in this jacket, I just forgot." He slid the napkin closer to himself, tongue sticking out between his teeth in concentration as he attempted to write _'Hi Robbe'_ upside down above the drawing. When the 'R' turned out backward and wobbly, Robbe laughed and Sander smiled at the sound. They tore apart the croissants before beginning to toss the pieces into the other's mouth, resulting in many misses and nearby birds roaming around the table to collect the scraps. At one point, Robbe picked up the pen and a fresh napkin, writing something down as if it were a secret not to be said aloud. He handed the note to Sander, which read _'Your coffee is better,'_ and feigned innocence when the older boy looked up at him, amused. They shared knowing laughs behind the lids of their cups, momentarily bringing Robbe back to that first day Sander had arrived at the train with two coffees, the memory unmoving in his mind. Looking at Sander now, under the late morning sun and with the accompanying sounds of birds and passersby, he found it funny that he was that same once-unnamed stranger from his six-thirty's, that same alluring presence with kind eyes and soft hands. It was all the same Sander; the same fingers lacing with his above the table, the same calm in Robbe's mind coinciding with the fluttering in his chest. Sander was that feeling.


End file.
